The Scales Tipped
by Ekaphant
Summary: Ingrid Third is having trouble fitting in at X Middle School. What would've happened if she had become Fillmore's nemesis instead of his partner?
1. Of Insolent Cookies

Title: The Scales Tipped  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Summary: Ingrid is having a hard time fitting in at X Middle School. What would've happened if Ingrid became Fillmore's nemesis instead of his partner.  
  
Authors Note: Hey all! You might like to know that I've also posted this on my Fillmore! fansite, and I plan to update it there more frequently than I do here. This is my shameless attempt to get you to visit it ^^; Oh! And if you want to, while you're there, submit your stories to my fanfic section. It's hungry for more food! You can find a link the website in my profile.  
  
________  
  
//Dear Wayne,  
  
Greetings from your hometown man. Sorry I haven't written in so long, but things have been pretty busy since you left. I hope you're enjoying Tennessee. Things at X are the same as ever- theft, conspiracy, kidnappings.//  
  
A particularly loud shout from the hallway caused Fillmore to look up from the letter he was writing. The door burst open with a decisive shudder, and in marched Anza with a struggling arrestee in tow. 'This is unacceptable!' he shouted, wrenching free of Anza's grip. Said officer was looking extremely perturbed about the whole display. He made another grab for the boy's handcuffed arms.  
  
'So are stink bombs,' he said dismissively. Another officer ran over to help move the guy into the booking room.  
  
'I want my lawyer!' Fillmore heard him yell before the door slammed shut. He raised an eyebrow at the scene and then shook his head. Yup. The same as ever.  
  
//Except you're not here to lend a hand to justice anymore. To bad. Vallejo is really feeling the loss of his star officer. He's taken to beating up on the new recruits, which really hasn't inspired anyone to join the force as of late.//  
  
At that moment the commissioner stalked out of his office and proceeded to badger a rookie about a report that 'was not only late but improperly filled out!' The rookie was standing in a resigned way, arms defensively wrapped around her middle and eyes glued to the floor. Karen took pity on the girl and strategically interrupted the overly-harsh lecture.  
  
'Coffee, sir?'  
  
Vallejo paused mid-sentence and seemed a bit thrown off. Tehama held out the mug, the expression on her face repeating the question. 'Oh, uh, sure. Thanks.' Taking the offered coffee, he retreated back to his office with a weary expression. The rookie gave Karen a miserable but grateful smile.  
  
//No new partner on the horizon.//  
  
Anza emerged from the booking room looking a little. ruffled. He passed Fillmore's desk with a scowl on his face. 'Anza.' He stopped and turned. 'What was all that about,' Fillmore asked, motioning towards the booking room where muffled shouts could be heard through the door.  
  
Anza crossed his arms and spat out the whole story with disgust. 'Found the guy setting up a stink bomb in a locker in C-Hall. When I asked him what he was doing, he ran. Chased him into the cafeteria, where we an accident with the vending machines. Soda everywhere. Folsom and Vallejo are going to have my badge for breakfast. And my suede jacket is ruined!' he exclaimed, motioning to the stains. 'Then the guy has the nerve to say what he was doing was for the good of the school, and I'd be better not to stop him. "I'm the most gifted student at X",' Anza said in a falsetto voice. 'Tch, that stink bomb was big enough to take out the entire ground level.' He shook his head and went over to his own desk.  
  
Fillmore glanced up at the clock. It was time for him to walk his beat. He put the half-finished letter in the top drawer of his desk and stood. Moving to the door, he slid his jacket on and left the noise of HQ for the noise of the hallway, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Since Wayne had left, life seemed kind of still to Fillmore. He was more withdrawn than ever, and a lot more stubborn too. Truth be known, Fillmore had passed up the opportunity for a new partner only 2 weeks ago.  
  
He'd come back to HQ after busting a few kids trying to break into the gym equipment room to find Vallejo shaking hands with a sweet looking girl. She was a dainty looking little thing, all smiles and cheer. Rather reminded him of Cheri, though maybe a lot less exuberant. Softer. She was wearing a pale pink dress with a white sweater that had only the top button done up, and a large silky ribbon in her hair. Vallejo gave him a meaningful look and motioned for him to come into his office.  
  
'She seems a bit delicate to make a good Safety Patroller.'  
  
'Chloe passed her exam with flying colors. I daresay she outdid you, Fillmore.'  
  
Cornelius split the blinds with his fingers and watched her move around HQ, chatting with the officers and introducing herself. 'I don't want a partner,' he said, and let go of the blinds. He turned around to look Vallejo squarely in the eye.  
  
'It's been over a month since Wayne left.'  
  
'No partners.'  
  
Vallejo had left it at that. Fillmore suspected that Vallejo new what he was going through, and was giving him time to adjust. The commissioner knew what it was like to lose a partner. But lately his patience had been growing thin. Yesterday he accused Fillmore of 'moping around' instead of doing his job. Both of them knew that wasn't true, Fillmore had been more diligent with his work than ever. It was his sole focus. It kept his mind off of other things, and that was the problem.  
  
Vallejo essentially wanted him to get over it, and because that wasn't happening he was losing his temper. Instead of having to deal with Fillmore's crime fighting tab and his insufferable attitude, he had to put up with Fillmore's crime fighting tab and his overly stubborn moodiness. Cornelius smiled to himself; you just had to pity the guy.  
  
But he didn't want a new partner.  
  
________  
  
Ingrid stood rooted to her spot on the stage. She couldn't quite tell what was worse at the moment: the semi-rigid foam balls, the threats of chess team glories and invisible walls, or the 'X-Middle-School-Alicious' cookie that was unsettling her stomach. Perhaps just the astounding effrontery of it all. The incredible insolence of all these people. What kind of school was this exactly?  
  
The people in the audience were smiling expectantly, waiting for her to say something like 'I'm glad to be here!' or 'I hope to be friends with all of you!'. As if. Ingrid had seen her fair share of schools, and this one was no different than the others. She'd practically drowned in the sea of 'X' jackets, sweaters, and scarves that were being paraded on just about very student body through the hallway. All she saw was red, literally and metaphorically. These people were just a bunch of preps all caught up in the wonderful image of their school. Probably been brainwashed at one point or another. Heck, they could probably all do something stupid like sing the school anthem from heart, in harmony. Ingrid inwardly rolled her eyes and prayed there was no school anthem.  
  
Then she told them exactly what she thought. 'This school stinks.' And that was that. She marched off of the stage and back through the door she'd followed Principal Folsom through just a few minutes before.  
  
'Again Ingrid, welcome,' she heard a woman's voice echo through the auditorium behind her.  
  
'Yeah, you bet,' she said to the empty hallway in frustration.  
  
She wanted out. There was no way around it. She wasn't going to sit around in this school and be assimilated into their universe of happy-go-lucky preps. What did they want from her, anyway? Sure she was smart, but that was her business, not the schools. And she refused to become a tool in Folsom's plans for ways to gain the school recognition. It had happened too many times before, with too many other principals. Oh yes. Ingrid knew how to play this game. All too well.  
  
It was just a matter of persuasion. Persuade the office that you were too much of a hassle to keep around. Convince them that you weren't worth their time. And that was never very hard, really. Prejudice based on appearance was something she'd used to her advantage many times. And when she left the teachers could say to themselves in a self-satisfied way: 'I knew that one would be trouble the first time I lay eyes on her.'  
  
A bell rang for lunch and people began flooding out of the auditorium. She let the crowd wash over her, and then moved along with them, disappearing into the masses. Eventually she found her way back to her locker, having already made a map of the hallways with her photographic memory. Ingrid glanced at the gift basket that was sitting forlorn at the bottom, then dug out the cookies and dumped them in a nearby garbage can. Her tummy squelched. X didn't sit very well with her at all.  
  
________  
  
Next Chapter: Ingrid vies for a way out of X, but things take an unexpected turn. 


	2. A Question of Motivation

Title: The Scales Tipped  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Hey all! Thanks to those of you who reviewed last chapter. And in case you were wondering, I'll be updating about once a week, so every Tuesday or Wenesday.  
  
Beth- No comment on the Fillmore/Ingrid thing. It would give everything away!  
  
Stephanie- Thanks. I think they're gonna end up a bit OOC though. 0_o  
  
Atsuki-chan- Here's your next chapter!  
  
Blackheart Syaoran- Thank you so much for your suggestions. I actually don't know anything about Superman, but I went and looked up this Luther character. I can guarantee you that there will be plenty of references for you to pick up on later in the story! ^_^  
  
________  
  
Ingrid stepped back and admired her work. It had turned out pretty good; her sister would be proud. Or might have been anyway, but for Ingrid's choice of canvas. Either way, she had to archive this one for the scrapbook. She pulled a camera out of her backpack and deposited in its place a can of spray paint. There were various others of different colours sitting neatly off to the side, all of them used. Ingrid backed up until she was against the lockers across the hall. 'Tch,' she said aloud in frustration, moving to the left in an attempt to fit her entire masterpiece into the photo. Streams of early morning light were filtering in through the windows, school would be opening soon.  
  
Ingrid pulled off the surgeon's mask she was wearing so her camera would stop bumping into it every time she went to look through the viewfinder. The smell of paint was heavy in the air, stifling her breath. It was already starting to give her a headache. A bright flash filled the hallway for an instant, then the sunrays came back into focus. Ingrid dropped the camera carelessly back into her bag. There was this strange feeling that she'd forgotten something.  
  
She smiled. 'My autograph.'  
  
She picked up the can of black spray paint from among the others that were standing nearby. Just enough left. Walking over to the right side, she scrawled her name neatly in the bottom corner. There. Perfect. Now all she had to do was.  
  
'What are you- Oh, no!' came a frantic cry from behind her. Ingrid smirked. She wouldn't have to wait to be discovered after all. 'How could you!?' the person shouted in an anguished voice. Ingrid turned and winced despite herself at the sight before her. Cheri was standing there in tears, fists clenched at her sides. This girl took school spirit way too seriously. 'I gave you cookies!' was the last thing she said before she launched herself at Ingrid.  
  
What followed was hair pulling, scratching, and pitiful slaps. Ingrid couldn't believe this! She'd have to be more careful of cheerleaders in the future, lest she be overrun by their passionate furry. Anza and another officer were greeted by this odd sight as they rounded the corner on their morning patrol. 'Hey!' he called out, sprinting over and pulling them apart. Cheri sank down onto the floor, a blubbering mass of tears. 'What's going on?' he demanded. His counterpart, who had just caught up and was huffing slightly, tapped Anza on the shoulder. 'What?' His eyes followed the finger that was pointing to the wall of lockers across the hall. 'Holy- '  
  
His walkie talkie cut him off. 'Anza, I can't decide between Dill Pickle and Barbecue. Can you help me out?'  
  
'Forget the chips, Fillmore. We've got a situation. Better get over here.'  
  
'Where are you?'  
  
'A-Hall.'  
  
'On my way.'  
  
Ingrid stood with her arms crossed, reeking attitude. Anza noted her paint clothes and mask with narrowed eyes. 'This your masterpiece?' he asked.  
  
'You really think it's a masterpiece?' she asked, feigning an innocent tone. She shot Anza a mischievous smile.  
  
At that moment Fillmore came running up the hallway from the opposite of the direction that Anza had come from. His face immediately went grim as he looked from Cheri, to the spray cans, to the lockers, and finally to Ingrid.  
  
'Looks like we got a Da Vinci wannabe here,' Anza said in a patronizing tone.  
  
'Now that //is// going too far. Da Vinci was a genius. His use of perspective, light and shadow was beautiful. This is rather crude really,' she said, surveying her work. 'It's just a bloody X. Really.'  
  
Fillmore's frown deepened at her dismissive tone. 'Ingrid Third?' She turned to look at him. 'I'm going to have to ask you to come with me.'  
  
'I was wondering when you'd get around to that. Can I get my stuff, or would you like to gather that yourself for evidence?'  
  
Fillmore nodded to Anza, who called for Tehama to come over with gloves and bags. He then looked back at Ingrid and asked, 'Are you going to co- operate, or do I need to cuff you?'  
  
'I'm a criminal. Are you going to go easy on me just because I'm the new girl?' Ingrid held out her arms with a challenging glare in her eyes. Fillmore matched it by snapping the cuffs down over her wrists.  
  
________  
  
Before long, the crowd of 5 around the conspicuous wall had multiplied to 60. It seemed as if the first thing every student heard the second they stepped through the doors of X was that someone had vandalized the lockers in A-Hall. People now stood gathered behind the yellow tape pointing, talking in hushed voices, and watching in disbelief at the scene before them. Anza was trying to keep the crowd calm while Tehama finished bagging the spray paint cans by telling them that the culprit had already been apprehended and was being questioned at headquarters.  
  
Fillmore sat at the questioning table with a grim look on his face. The transcript before him was a rather disheveled one. It seemed like this girl had been to the best schools in every state. Heck, did he just read that she had spent a year in Nepal? It didn't add up. If this girl was as smart as her marks were saying she was, then why was she being passed round the school boards like a hot potato? He looked up at her, his expression deepening.  
  
She was watching him with narrowed eyes, almost with disgust. Her chair was pushed back from the table so she could slouch comfortably, one knee over the other and arms crossed, one shoulder cocked slightly higher than the other. He could sum up the presence of this Ingrid Third in one word: Attitude.  
  
'So-'  
  
'Why am I here?' she cut him off. He smirked at this. She had been waiting to bite off his words.  
  
'Does vandalizing school property ring any bells?'  
  
'I already gave you my confession. Why am I still here?'  
  
'I'm a Safety Patrol officer; it's my job to get to the bottom of a crime.'  
  
She rolled her eyes. 'In case you haven't noticed, you've caught the criminal. Not too bright are you?'  
  
'Maybe I'm not, but you are.' He motioned to the transcript, 'Your marks are perfect, your records are glowing. You wanna know why you're still here? I wanna know why.'  
  
'Why what?' she asked, her foul mood staining her words.  
  
'Motive.'  
  
She raised an eyebrow, her countenance relaxing. Fillmore noted this with interest. 'You want to know my motive, do you?' she said in a dangerous voice. It seemed to Fillmore that this girl was laced with poison. Perhaps like some kind of snake, sly and clever, and if you let it it'll bite.  
  
'Well, let me explain it for you then,' she leaned forward and put her still crossed arms on the table. 'I. Hate. This. School.'  
  
Fillmore's lips curled up a little, playing along with her game once again. After all, if you can't beat them, join them. 'From what I can tell, you've hated every school you've ever been to.' Their eyes locked. Although appearing calm, he could she Ingrid was inwardly blazing at the fact that he wouldn't leave off about her motive. He knew she'd figured him out already, and that she knew he was enjoying this. And he wasn't enjoying it because he'd caught her, but enjoying it because he was matching minds with her, and that only made her even more upset. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her response.  
  
'You do have some wits about. Excellent inference.' Her voice held a mocking tone.  
  
'Thanks. Part of the job. But I've also noticed that there are no records of any previous offences at these other schools.'  
  
'And?'  
  
He decided to leave that course of conversation alone. It wasn't relevant right now anyway. 'It's kind of sad, really. For all your intelligence, you're incapable of distinguishing right from wrong. You're completely misguided.' The sternness was creeping back into his voice.  
  
Ingrid smirked.  
  
'And for that reason,' he continued, 'even your IQ won't save you.'  
  
She immediately frowned at that. 'I don't need to be saved.'  
  
'Really? Well all you've managed to so far is run from whatever is chasing you. Run from one school to another.'  
  
'I do //not// need to be saved,' she reasserted firmly.  
  
'I bet you couldn't survive if you stayed at one school. And that's because you're incapable of saving yourself.'  
  
A tap at the door interrupted them. Vallejo was looking in at them through the blinds. Fillmore rose and went out to him, shutting the door behind him. 'What have you got?' the commissioner asked him.  
  
'I got the full confession on tape.'  
  
'Excellent. I'll have the expulsion hearing arranged for Monday. You can send her home now.' He nodded towards the questioning room.  
  
Fillmore stood resignedly, his gaze straying across the evidence bags containing spray paint cans. They were sitting neatly on Tehama's desk, labeled and ready for exhibit at the hearing. Among them was a Polaroid of Ingrid's graffiti work. He picked it up to look at. Across a section of lockers was a large black and white X, like the school emblem. It was, like the emblem, on a red background. But the red paint had been allowed to run, and it looked like blood.  
  
He dropped the photo and sighed. 'Tehama,' he called across the room to her, where she was chatting with Danny. She looked over at him. 'Can you take care of Third? I've got some other things to do.'  
  
'Sure thing,' she waved.  
  
'Thanks,' he replied, and made his way out of HQ. He had to talk to Folsom.  
  
________  
  
Next Chapter: Ingrid gets a suspected surprise at the expulsion hearing. 


	3. Pulling on Strings

Title: The Scales Tipped  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Hmmm. I don't really like this chapter 0_o. Oh well, I know you'll all want to read it anyway, huh. Thank you all so much for your reviews last chapter. And about Fillmore's fish: I have no idea how to spell its name. So Thelonius will have to do, unless someone out there knows how to spell it and would be so kind as to tell me!  
  
Blackheart Syaoran- Whoops. My bad. Luthor. With an 'o'. Got it. ^^; I'm sorry there are no references in this chapter for you to snap up, but Ingrid hasn't even gotten started yet on Fillmore. Next chapter, I promise!  
  
Kat59- Thank you! ^^  
  
Beth- Ack! I've been glomped! **feels loved** Yeah, I'm up for it. But I still have no clue where to start.  
  
Chris- Maybe. **smiles secretively**  
  
soulful-sin- Thank you so much for your comments. It's nice to get some constructive criticism. I've been meaning to go back and fix those punctuation errors. I'm surprised no one else has mentioned them. And someone else agrees with me that Ingrid is OOC! I see what you mean about the whole 'pilot' thing, but I wanted to get away from the real course of the episode as fast as I could. We all know what happens, we've seen it a million times, and I didn't want to have to write it all over again. I guess my story is stemming from 'What if Parnassus had been caught before the stink bomb was set off.'. You're right though, it's not a full reversal. As for the suspected surprise, it's an oxymoron! XD I love oxymorons, they're lots of fun! ^^  
  
The Crimson Lugia- Yay! I have kudo points! XD  
  
________  
  
'So what you're telling me is that you don't think she should be expelled?'  
  
'Yes. That's what I'm telling you.'  
  
Principal Folsom raised a critical eyebrow. 'And why is that again?'  
  
'It's what she wants to happen. If you let her be expelled, she's won.'  
  
'As far as I'm concerned, if she wants to leave then let her go. I don't have time to deal with delinquents at X, no matter how smart they are. Better she leave and deface another principal's property.'  
  
'You can be sure she will. And then she'll be expelled and shipped off to another school. This cycle has to stop, and you have the opportunity to put it to an end.' He crossed his arms in defiance, she eyed him up.  
  
'Fillmore, the last time I checked it was the jury's decision and not mine whether or not Third would be expelled.' She leaned back in her massage chair and closed her eyes, obviously trying to dismiss him.  
  
'But we both know the jury will find her guilty, and the penalty will probably be expulsion.'  
  
'You still fail to clarify what this has to do with me.'  
  
'You're the principal.'  
  
'And?'  
  
'You have strings attached to every single one of your fingers. So pull some.'  
  
Folsom looked up at him. He was standing in the center of her office with his arms still crossed and his brow creased as he stared her down. 'Officer Fillmore, are you suggesting that I interfere with the course of justice?'  
  
'Not at all. Just tip the scales in the desired direction.'  
  
The phone rang. Folsom glanced quickly from it to Fillmore, and then pushed the speaker button. 'Yes?'  
  
'Excuse me Principal Folsom, but I got Mr. Third like you asked me. He's on line two.'  
  
'Thank you Cynthia. I'll take it now.' She picked up the phone and spoke into the receiver. 'Hello Mr. Third. This is Principal Folsom from X Middle School. I'm calling in regards to your daughter, Ingrid.'  
  
There was a pause where Fillmore could hear someone talking on the other end of the line. Folsom motioned with her hand for him to leave. 'I'm afraid I have some rather distressing news.'  
  
Fillmore walked resignedly down the empty hallways back towards headquarters. This was garbage. Expelling Ingrid Third would only be playing into her hands. There had to be something else he could do, someone else he could talk to. But Folsom had a point. What he was doing was edging very close to interfering with the course of justice. Would letting Third get away with her little game be justice though?  
  
It was probably best to leave things alone. Fillmore sighed. He was acting rashly. Going straight to Folsom without thinking things over first had been a mistake. He sat down at his desk and took a bottle of fish food out of the drawer. Thelonius gratefully ate the flakes that were sprinkled across the surface of the water in his fish bowl. Fillmore put the food away and glanced down at the paper work someone had left on his desk. He still needed to fill out a report for that chalk boost he had busted up last week. Later. He put the papers in his drawer along with the fish food.  
  
'Something wrong?'  
  
Fillmore looked up from where he had buried his face in his hands. Danny was regarding him inquisitively. He managed a weak but convincing smile. 'Just a bit worn out.'  
  
'I'm a shaken up too. I had to take photos of that graffiti work this morning,' Danny shuddered. 'I'm not going to be able to sleep for weeks.'  
  
'It comes with the job, man.'  
  
'Maybe, but there's no getting used to it. It was gruesome.'  
  
'You'll be alright, Danny. Just try not to think about it too much.' Fillmore could only smile as he thought about Danny's own attempts at artwork. At least it was clearly obvious what Third had painted.  
  
'Hey Fillmore!' Karen called out. She made her way over to stand next to Danny. 'That Third was some piece of work, eh? I've never seen anyone so apathetic to a crime they've committed. Most people are sorry, or boast about it, or put up a struggle with the officers just to make trouble. But this girl, she was completely neutral. I have no clue what to make of her.'  
  
'You've seen people who are sorry for the crimes they've committed?' Fillmore smirked. 'More like sorry they've been caught.'  
  
'Case and point, Fillmore,' Tehama gave him a meaningful look.  
  
'Who said I was sorry?'  
  
She gave a little chuckle at that. 'Whatever you say, Fillmore.' She waved and went back to work, Danny followed. The smile on Fillmore's face quickly faded. Karen was right. Third was quite the piece of work. And the fact was that she was criminal.  
  
The following Monday he entered the office early to find it busy with activity. Vallejo was in an uproar over something or other, and the officers were buzzing with conversation. He made his way over to Anza, who was standing a bit aloof from everyone else. 'What's going on?'  
  
Joseph glanced at him. 'I suppose you haven't heard yet, then. Otherwise you'd be as upset as the rest of them are.' He handed Fillmore a sheet of paper. 'Here.'  
  
He scanned the writing. It was a list of names. 'What's this?'  
  
'It's the list of jury members for Ingrid Third vs. X Middle School.'  
  
Fillmore looked it over again with this in mind. 'Alvin Jessop, Carlee Granger, Lily Breacon, Francis Cunard.' He looked up at Anza in disbelief. 'But Jessop is a part of the committee of students petitioning for the legalization of graffiti at school. Granger and Breacon are members of the Psychology Club. They've been working for easier sentences on criminals for years. Terry Devon, isn't he the one insists on skateboarding through the hallways?'  
  
Anza nodded.  
  
'With these people on the jury Third's gonna get off with next to nothing.'  
  
'Darn right she is. And no one can figure who would've had it in mind to rig the jury list, let alone the resources to pull it off. This is such a mess. Vallejo's lost it over this one. He spent 20 minutes on the phone with Folsom this morning trying to get her to disband the jury on the pretence that it had been meddled with. But there's no proof, and he knew it. He just couldn't let it go without a fight.'  
  
Folsom. Fillmore set his face grimly. So she had decided to pull some strings after all. He wondered what exactly Mr. Third had said to her that had gotten her to change her mind on the issue.  
  
'Where're you going?' Anza asked, noting the officer's dim expression.  
  
'To watch the trial.'  
  
________  
  
Ingrid Third gave a rather pronounced yawn. She'd never really had much of a problem with mornings, but the trial was too boring for words. She'd seen too many of them to find the proceedings even remotely interesting anymore. But the jury was slightly fascinating despite it all. Some of them were outright punks, slouching in their chairs with their pants half down. The student judge made a rather ruthless motion for one of the boys to take off his baseball cap. He did so, but not without a distinct rolling of the eyes. The general disdain for authority was evident. There were two girls sitting next to each other who were very clean cut, sitting erect in their chairs. They seemed to be throwing the judge dirty glances every time he looked their way. Another girl sitting in the back row was staring off into space, absentmindedly popping her gum. The sound of it was enough to drive Ingrid mad. God, she couldn't wait to get out of here.  
  
But the jury was enough to confirm some of her suspicions. And when Fillmore entered the courtroom, the matter was settled in her mind. She had recognized his stubborn attitude the moment he approached her in the hallway on Friday morning. She had to give him credit for not buying her act of delinquency as genuine rebellion. Most people couldn't see past it. But he saw it for the petty act of manipulation that it was. He knew she only did it for the sake of leaving the school. And thanks to his stubborn attitude, he didn't want to let her get away with leaving. Get away with escape. An interesting idea really: getting caught was her escape. But this Officer Fillmore, he wanted to let her go. And apparently he was about to.  
  
The girl in the back row popped her gum. Ingrid did her best not to flinch. The School finished submitting its numerous exhibits and concluded before the jury, who really couldn't care less, Ingrid Third was guilty and should be punished to the full extent of the law. The two prim girls bristled at that.  
  
'Does the defendant wish to make a statement in her defense?' the judge asked. Ingrid, who had declined a lawyer, stood behind her table and looked at the jury.  
  
'No thank you.'  
  
The prosecutor glanced at the judge and shrugged, who shrugged back. 'The jury will retire to decide on sentencing.'  
  
The members filed out in a rather unorderly fashion, leaving the courtroom humming with whispers. Ingrid leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Did she really want to stay at X? No. Not at all. But it looked like she'd have to for the time being. She didn't want to get her father into trouble with Principal Folsom; she knew that he at least had pleaded a case for her to remain at X. And no one except the Principal could have rigged the jury list on such short notice. No one else cared whether or not she stayed, really. Except Fillmore. And she would have ample opportunity to make him regret that.  
  
A short 15 minutes later the jury filed back in. 'Has the jury reached a verdict?' asked the judge.  
  
'We have, your honor,' replied one of the two proper girls, and handed him a small piece of paper.  
  
The judge gave it a once over before reading aloud. 'Will the defense please rise.' Ingrid stood. 'The defendant is sentenced to 3 weeks of detention, 40 hours of community service, and must clean her graffiti from the lockers in A-Hall.'  
  
No, not a surprise at all. She picked up her bag and breezed out of the hearing room straight past Fillmore who she didn't spare a glance for. His eyes followed her down the hall.  
  
________  
  
Next Chapter: Ingrid starts in on her detentions and meets some of X's notorious criminals. 


	4. Honor, Or Lack Thereof

Title: The Scales Tipped  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Hello again. I'm sorry if I seem like I'm lagging behind in updates a bit, but it's exam time! Luckily I'm finished now though. That means I have time to sit around and do nothing! ^_^ No school until Monday! **Party** I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and in case you forgot, Augie is that dude who Fillmore and Ingrid had to protect during one episode. I can't remember the specs, but he had lots of cool lines. Like, 'Here's a penny for your thoughts, next time keep them to yourself.' Not to mention that he called Fillmore 'Ociffer'. Oh yeah. Augie rocks. 3 And he was allergic to custard, and they had to ride bikes through the re-enactment of the battle of. I have no clue what battle it was, but it was a Civil War battle I'm sure. Or then again it might have been a Revolutionary battle. I have no clue. Really, none. 0_0  
  
Beth- I'm really not saying a word about the Fillmore/Ingrid thing, so stop asking! ^^  
  
Blackheart Syaoran- Or did she? **dun dun dun** Anyway, I made a reference for you! **is proud** I hope you find it, otherwise I'll feel bad. But there's more to come. Oh yes. Much much more.  
  
Toast- I love your penname! **SQUEA** Um, yeah. Thank you~! But as far as not rushed goes, I think it's too slow. 0_o  
  
Califpinay3001- Thank you!  
  
Summersitesprite- You know, I've been asked by English teachers about my whole ' instead of " thing before. I'm actually to the point of wondering whether it really matters. I mean, go pull books off your bookshelf and look! With every book it changes back and forth! Ahhh! I'm so confused! But you know, Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings use '. And they rock. ^_^  
  
________  
  
The scrub brush dropped into the bucket with a splash. Ingrid stood and wiped her forehead with her arm. The afternoon sun was blaring in through the windows. School had ended about half an hour ago. She, however, had a debt to pay. And she always paid her debts, even if they were owed to her enemies. Thus, society was getting its payback in full.  
  
Ingrid glanced over her shoulder, then took a spray bottle out of her bag. She sprayed a liberal amount of its contents over her 'mural' and stood back to watch the spray paint dissolve and run down the front of the lockers like water. A smile tweaked at the corners of her mouth. Chemistry was a true ally through thick and thin. She took a rag and wiped away the graffiti with ease, then dropped the stained rag into the bucket with the scrub brush. Finished already. Now what to do? Left to her own devices, devices that could very easily wreak havoc on X Middle School. Not that she cared to. Attention was given where attention was due, and as far as Ingrid was concerned X was worthy of no such distinction.  
  
'Third.'  
  
There was however an individual who was. 'Officer Fillmore.' Ingrid turned to face him. He glanced at the clean lockers and raised an eyebrow.  
  
'Finished already?'  
  
'You're bright as ever, Officer,' was her reply.  
  
'You've only been at this for 45 minutes.'  
  
'Hm,' she pursed her lips. 'Well, in all honesty, the first half hour was just for show. I actually only spent 15 minutes cleaning the lockers.' His eyes narrowed as she bent down to retrieve her bag. 'Now,' she continued, 'were you going to escort me to detention, or was this just a social call?' She started down the hallway without waiting for him to answer. Then without warning she spun around and tossed him the spray bottle. 'Present from me to you.'  
  
He inspected the spray bottle for a moment, then looked up to find her already halfway down the hall. 'The answer to that question would be the former. So I'd appreciate you not running off,' he said while catching up to her. 'You have a detention to serve, and it's my job to see that you do.'  
  
She shot him an annoyed look. 'And what makes you think I'd skip out of detention? If I can so easily accept that I've committed a crime, what makes you think I couldn't accept the consequences?'  
  
'How about those lockers for instance?'  
  
She stopped and turned to face him. 'I was told to clean the lockers. That's exactly what I did. If you have a problem with my methods, that's exactly what it is. Your problem. Deal with it, and don't accuse me of doing what I was supposed to.'  
  
Fillmore narrowed his eyes at her, giving her his patent Safety Patrol Officer stare.  
  
'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a detention to get to.' With that she turned and went through the door to the detention room, sufficiently ignoring the fact that he even existed. Shutting the door behind her, Ingrid was met with the blinding white walls of the detention room. She took her accustomed seat towards the centre of the room, the same seat she'd sat in for the past 3 afternoons. At the front of the room the words 'Think About What You've Done' were written in black bold print across the whiteboard. She glanced around. The boy at the back with the red cap was slouched over his desk picking his ear. Another boy to her right had his head resting on his desk. He was asleep, and drooling no less. Well, points to the office for trying to make the delinquents care about the error of their ways.  
  
Ingrid settled in to have another boring 2 hours of her life to be drained away. Welcome to the Hall of Heroes. She silently wondered what these guys had done to end up stuck in here everyday like her. They'd probably attempted some pathetic feat to make them look like rebels. Maybe they drew on their desks in History class. Or maybe they were the kind of guys who got kicks out of rigging the water fountains to spray water in people's faces. Oh yes. She could picture that one easily.  
  
The door suddenly slammed open. 'Yeah, yeah, I heard ya the first time.' A short boy sauntered into the room and gave a wave to whoever it was he was addressing outside the door. 'See ya 'round, Ociffer.' A girl with an orange sash reached past him and pulled the door shut. The boy turned towards his reception with a smug smile on his face. Ingrid went back to the chapter she'd been assigned to read for English homework. She figured she'd have the entire book done in about ten minutes.  
  
A shadow fell across her. She glanced up to see the boy who'd just come had taken the seat in front of her, and was sitting backwards in his chair to face her. He crossed his arms and leaned forwards onto her desk. 'Do you mind? You're blocking my light,' was all she said before she went back to her book.  
  
'What's up with you're clothes? You dress to match the detention room or sumthin?'  
  
She didn't answer.  
  
'Are you even readin' that?' He asked, eyeing the speed with which she was turning the pages.  
  
'Photographic memory.'  
  
'Really?' His tone wasn't one of disbelief. It sounded more like he was logging that bit of information away in case it came in handy later.  
  
'Really,' she affirmed for him anyway in a no-nonsense voice. She wasn't in the mood to become involved in any of his games, whatever they were.  
  
'You got a name?'  
  
She put down her book. 'Third.'  
  
'Ah,' a look of understanding coming onto his face. 'You're the one who decorated the lockers.' He smiled deviously. 'Nice bit of work. Too bad ya got caught.'  
  
She smiled back in her own dark way. 'What makes you think I wanted to get away with it?'  
  
He leaned back and put his arms behind his head. 'You know what, Third? I think I like you. Ever need anything, I'm the one to talk to, got it?'  
  
She leaned back and crossed her arms. 'And your name is?'  
  
'Augie.'  
  
________  
  
Fillmore sat down at his desk and noticed with a cringe that there was yet another stack of paperwork needing to be filled out waiting for him by Thelonius' fish bowl. He'd get around to that later. He propped up his elbows and entwined his fingers, satisfied to mull over the days events. Or more specifically a particular event, being Ingrid Third. He was slowly compiling a list of things that made the girl tick.  
  
The first was telling her she needed to be saved. That had gotten her worked up alright. It was obvious that the idea that she was venerable didn't sit well with her. She wanted to be in control, to have full grasp of the situation. The second was accusing her of crimes she didn't commit. That was unexpected, really. He hadn't guessed that she would blow up over being accused of skipping out on her detentions or cheating at cleaning the lockers. But she had, and that meant that she had a sense of honor. A sense of duty.  
  
He sank backwards into his chair and sighed. Tehama was right. There was no figuring out this girl. It was like trying to put together a thousand piece puzzle without knowing what it was a picture of. But speaking of Tehama.  
  
Fillmore pulled the spray bottle Ingrid had tossed him out of his jacket pocket. He placed it on Tehama's desk with a note asking her to analyze the contents for him. He'd check back with her later and see what she found. Fillmore turned back to his own desk and noted dimly that the paperwork was still waiting for him. Why did paperwork have to come with the job? Wasn't it enough that he devoted nearly all of his free time to tracking down criminals and keeping X safe? It wasn't right.  
  
But it had to be done.  
  
He glanced at the clock. He had fifteen more minutes until he was off for the day. No one else was around, which was kind of odd. Even Vallejo wasn't in his office. Maybe he had a meeting with Folsom. 'Guess it's just you and me, Thelonius.' He paused and looked around. 'You thirsty?' The fish kept swimming in circles. 'Didn't think so. I'm gonna go grab something to drink. Hold the fort.'  
  
A few minutes later Fillmore stood facing the yellow tape that declared: 'Safety Patrol Do Not Cross'. Snap. He'd forgot about Anza's little escapade with the vending machines. They were still out of order. The sound of footsteps suddenly began to echo in the hallway, and then two students rounded the corner into the cafeteria. Fillmore inwardly groaned, but outwardly showed as much respect as he could muster. It wasn't very much.  
  
'Officer Fillmore.'  
  
'Peabody.'  
  
'What are you doing here?'  
  
'Last time I checked it was my duty to patrol the school.'  
  
Peabody eyed the vending machines behind him. 'Came to get a drink? Well, you'll have to settle for the water fountain like everyone else. Thanks to the Safety Patrol the schools budget is going to be hit hard. Do you have any idea how much it's going to cost to replace those machines?'  
  
'Thanks to the Safety Patrol the school was saved from a stink bomb attack that day. I don't care how much the machines cost. Lives are worth more than a couple of sodas.'  
  
Peabody turned up his nose. 'If only you were so fortunate in keeping other criminals out of the hallways, hmm? Ingrid Third, I believe her name is.'  
  
'We don't control the courts; it's only our job to get the criminals in there in the first place.'  
  
'Perhaps. But that jury list was no fluke, and the Safety Patrol knows it. Why isn't the list being investigated? I want to know who rigged it, Officer.'  
  
Fillmore was about to reply when the girl with Peabody tapped him on the arm. 'Excuse me, sir. We're going to be late for the meeting.'  
  
'Oh yes, of course. Officer.'  
  
Fillmore nodded in response as Peabody continued on his way down the hall. All these years, and the guy still dressed like a sofa.  
  
When he got back to HQ he found it exactly the opposite of how he had left it: in an active frenzy. Phones were ringing, people were rushing back and forth, shouting across the room. Vallejo was cooped up in his office on the phone looking extremely worried. The guy was probably going to drop dead of a heart attack one of these days. He grabbed a passing officer by the arm, the new girl, Chloe. 'What's going on?'  
  
'You haven't heard?' Her eyes were wide with disbelief.  
  
He shook his head.  
  
'You know Intel has been working on Stingray for months now.'  
  
Oh God.  
  
He left her in mid sentence and ran straight over to Anza. 'What happened?' He demanded firmly.  
  
'His cover was blown.'  
  
'How?'  
  
'We don't know. But someone did their homework. There was a sting operation set up to go ahead this afternoon. Got word from the inside that Stingray would be collecting on his stolen chalk shipments today. Man, Neil's been working on the inside for months, I can't believe.'  
  
'Keep talking.'  
  
'Well, Neil had managed to get hold of the time and place that the transfer would happen. But when they got there, all they found was Neil.'  
  
'Is he alright?'  
  
'He's in the hospital. He was beaten up pretty bad. But the message was pretty clear: Stingray found out about him and wasn't happy. There was no sign of a shipment transfer. They probably arranged for it to take place somewhere else entirely.'  
  
'Was it a leak?'  
  
'We don't know.'  
  
'Do we know anything?'  
  
'There was one thing. They found Augie lurking around nearby. They questioned him for a bit but he didn't fess up to anything, and they couldn't hold him without charging him. Of course, he has a mountain of unpaid library fines, so they packed him off in detention for the afternoon just to spite him.'  
  
'Anza!' Someone called from across the room. Fillmore sat down at his desk to digest this new information. Neil had been exposed. He was one of the more formidable Officers, but he spent a lot of his time working with Intel. It suited him too, he was a clever guy. He had been on the force from Vallejo's time. That probably explained why the Junior Commissioner looked so out of sorts. The two were close friends.  
  
Fillmore glanced at the clock. Technically, he was a free man ten minutes ago. He picked up the phone and called home. 'Hey mom? Yeah, I'm going to be working late tonight.'  
  
________  
  
Next Chapter: Ingrid delves a bit deeper into X Middle School and Fillmore starts to investigate Stingray himself. 


	5. Fishing for Stingrays

Title: The Scales Tipped  
  
Rating: PG  
  
I'm so sorry about the interlude there, guys! I never really had any definite idea about where I'd take this story when I started, so the ineveitable happened: writer's block. You'll be pleased to know, though, that I suddenly have everything figured out for the rest of the story! ^_^ So it should be 1 week updates from here on in. Let us hope, anyway.  
  
Is anyone else glad they've fixed the whole (...) thing? That's happened in just about every one of the previous chapters of this story.  
  
Beth- I hope I didn't scare you off with the last comment I made about you not asking about Fillmore/Ingrid anymore! There was supposed to be a happy face after that, but ff.net turned it into a line! ;0; Don't be mad at me! **cries**  
  
sinta1- Thank you!  
  
summersitesprite- Yeah, I know. The whole ' vs. " thing is just screwed up. 0_o Oh well, lets just say it leaves room for... creative interpretation?  
  
Blackheart Syoaran- Ah! It was the whole 'Hall of Heroes' thing that Ingrid said. I read something about Luther having a Hall of Heroes where there were statues of like, evil villains. Ingrid was drawing a comparison between that and detention hall. And you know, I thought Stingray was lame too. I'm gonna make him a bit more menacing. Just wait to you find out what he's up to! That won't be for a few more chapters though!  
  
Soulful-sin- Maybe, maybe not... **shifty eyes** Stop making guesses at my plot! ;P I like using characters from the episodes though, because it grounds the fanfic in the series a bit more.  
  
Chris- The world owes a debt to you! Until you submitted that review, I had no clue what to do in chapter five!  
  
Cath2x- Thank you!  
  
Ketchum fan- I hope my little rant up the top cleared things up for you regarding the updates. Sorry again. And thanks for the info on that episode! For those of you who don't read the reviews (why would you?): Augie appeared in This Savior, A Snitch, and the battle was a Revolutionary battle.  
  


* * *

  
Fillmore strode grimly down the hall. It had been a late night and an early morning. His mood, not to mention the mood of the force in general, was particularly off. One of their own had been hit hard, and that was something that was taken personally. If Stingray had been a menace before, he or she had been officially promoted to arch enemy of the Safety Patrol, to be brought down at any cost. But if the officers were taking all of this to heart, no one had been hit harder than Vallejo. Not only was he technically responsible for the entire thing, being Junior Commissioner and all, Neil was a close friend. It didn't matter how many consoling words had been spoken to him in the last 24 hours, Vallejo blamed himself.  
  
It certainly didn't help that the failed sting operation had been leaked to the press. The disaster was plastered all over the front page of the Examiner. It was the only thing anyone seemed to want to talk about. Vallejo had already been pushed by More! More! to give a statement on the incident. It had been near painful to watch. Fillmore had to admire the guy's strength though. For talking about something that was eating him up inside, Vallejo had done an amazing job of maintaining his composure and speaking with a stern voice, the one he usually employed during briefings.  
  
Folsom had been on his back all morning too. Phone calls from her were not to be taken lightly, and Vallejo didn't take them lightly at all. He took them almost too seriously. He wanted Stingray caught and in confinement, now.  
  
Which was why Fillmore was tracking down Augie. The Commissioner was running them all ragged in search of anything that could help them pinpoint Stingray. Augie was proving, as always, quite slippery in his movements. The kid was clever; he knew how to not be found. But slippery as he was, he'd slip up sooner or later. Hopefully sooner. Fillmore had spent the last two and a half hours looking for him.  
  
'Fillmore!'  
  
Tehama was walking down the hall towards him, handcuffed student in tow.  
  
'Sup Tehama?' he asked.  
  
'Found this guy's prints on some boxes stacked at the back of the room where the sting took place. Gonna bring him in and ask some questions.'  
  
Said guy sneered at Fillmore.  
  
'Are you still looking for Augie?'  
  
Fillmore looked back at the Forensics expert. 'Yeah. I'm getting close.'  
  
She shook her head. 'They had him in the interrogation room for 2 hours yesterday. I don't see what you want to talk to him about if they couldn't get a single useful word out of him.'  
  
'Well, first of all, if he didn't know anything then why is he avoiding me?'  
  
The guy Tehama was holding jerked away from her, trying to loosen her grip. She rolled her eyes. 'I've gotta get this one back to HQ. Good luck, Fillmore.'  
  
He nodded and watched her move down the hall. He then watched as Ingrid Third walked down the hall towards him. She, of course, was looking straight through him as if he wasn't even there. 'Where are you off to?'  
  
'Lunch. Is that still legal?' She didn't even look at him.  
  
Fillmore shook his head. He didn't have time to deal with this. He had to find Augie. 'Fillmore.'  
  
The officer pulled out his walkie talkie. 'Fillmore here.'  
  
'We're heading over to question Neil about the incident. I want you to come along,' Vallejo's voice came across the fuzzy radio signal.  
  
'On my way.'  
  
The hospital room was rather typical. Blindingly white. Medical equipment with wires crossing this way and that. Four beds protruding from the left wall, all empty except for the one farthest from the door, the one next to the window. Neil was propped up against a pillow, a food tray balanced on his lap. 'Hey, Vallejo. I was wondering when you'd show up.' His voice sounded tired and rung hollow. He forced a smile, but winced as it put pressure on a gash that was hidden beneath a bandage on his right temple. Various other bruises graced his face.  
  
'Neil. This is Officer Fillmore. He's working on the Stingray case.'  
  
'Along with every other Safety Patroller I hear.' Neil gave another weak smile.  
  
'If you don't mind, I have a few questions,' Fillmore put in. The Intel agent turned his attention from Vallejo.  
  
'By all means, Officer,' he said, nodding to a chair beside the bed.  
  
'We need to know what you uncovered before you were discovered.'  
  
'It's all in my report, but I can give you the basics. As far as I could gather, the deal had to do with a shipment of stolen beverages.'  
  
'Beverages?'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
'Why beverages?'  
  
'I don't know why, but the deal was supposed to take place in January.'  
  
'Then why did it take place yesterday?'  
  
'My "supervisor" had implied that the deal was moved up in light of the disaster in the cafeteria regarding the soda machines. If the school records are right, a shipment of refills arrived for vending machines 2 and 5 the morning of that accident. Those shipments should be in a storage room now, and will stay there until the vending machines can be replaced.'  
  
'And that's all you know?'  
  
'Everything was kept pretty quiet. No one really knew what was going on. We just did what we were told, no matter how little sense it made. Looking back, I can't help but wonder if they knew all along that I was a spy.'  
  
'Who were you working with?'  
  
'Does it matter? They won't help you find Stingray; they don't have a clue who he is. They're just the small fish. I thought we were after something more like a swordfish.'  
  
'A stingray, actually,' Fillmore smirked.  
  
Neil smiled back. 'You're a clever guy, Fillmore. Ever thought of going out for Intel?'  
  
'I like my orange sash, thanks.'  
  
'Oh well.'  
  
'What about Augie?'  
  
The agent gave him a confused look. 'What about Augie?'  
  
'He was found near the crime scene just minutes after the sting took place. Do you know if he had any connection to what happened?'  
  
'I won't say that he didn't, because he tends to deal in the petty things that Stingray might find him useful for. But I never heard any mention of him.'  
  
Fillmore sat in silence a moment, brow creased as he stared at the floor. 'That's it for now. I might be back later to ask some more questions. Gonna follow up the drink shipments.'  
  
'Good luck, Officer.'  
  
Fillmore moved to the door, but Vallejo didn't follow. 'I'm uh, gonna stay a while. Got some catching up to do.'  
  
Fillmore nodded and left the two friends to themselves.  
  
Once outside the hospital Fillmore pulled his walkie talkie off of his belt. 'Anza, you copy?'  
  
'I'm here. Go ahead.'  
  
'Do you know if there have been any reports of stolen beverage shipments?'  
  
'Doesn't really ring any bells, but you might want to check it out for yourself. With everything that's been going on something like that might have been overlooked.'  
  
'Thanks Anza. Fillmore out.'  
  


* * *

  
'Hey.' Ingrid closed the door to find Augie casually leaning against the wall behind it.  
  
'Fillmore's looking for you,' she stated, not in the least startled by his appearance.  
  
'And he's going to find me here?'  
  
'In the school archives? Probably not,' Ingrid smirked. 'I doubt he can imagine the possibility of you even setting foot in a library.  
  
'So what are you doing here?' he asked, nodding his head toward her.  
  
'Research.'  
  
'Oh yeah? On what?'  
  
'Foes. Rivals. It's good to know your enemy.' She walked down a row of old year books, faded dusty red, and reached up to the top shelf where a few bright and new looking books were sitting. 'Let's see, 2002-2003. Here we are.' She pulled it down and casually flipped trough the pages.  
  
'You readin' that?'  
  
'Yes, Augie. I had a photographic memory yesterday and I still have one today.' She smiled genuinely to soften the sarcasm.  
  
'So how does it work?'  
  
'What?'  
  
'This photograph memory thing.'  
  
'I can remember everything I see exactly as it was. Essentially, my mind takes pictures of everything, and I can just conjure them up in my mind and look at them in closer detail whenever I want.'  
  
'So even if you only see something for a split second?'  
  
'I can remember exactly what it was, looked like, said. Yes.'  
  
'Explains why you're such a brain.'  
  
'I take it this room doesn't get used often?'  
  
'Huh? Oh, no. Not really. I mean, once and a while you got newsies coming in here to do background checks, but just about everything is accessible by computer anyway. They can find everything they need without leaving their desks.'  
  
Ingrid eyed the computer sitting against the far wall. 'Is that one hooked up to the school network?'  
  
'Yeah. They all are.'  
  
She turned her focus back to the old yearbook in her hand, stopping on one page. A multitude of photographs of grade seven students smiled back her. She was only interested in one. 'So what can you tell me about Fillmore?'  
  
'Information will cost ya.'  
  
Ingrid rolled her eyes and pushed past him to the computer.  
  
'What are ya doing?' Augie asked incredulously as she began to type furiously.  
  
'If you're not going to tell me anything, I might as well just consult the office records.'  
  
'You mean you're gonna hack into the administration records? You can do that?' Augie pulled a chair up beside her and sat watching with a look of interest.  
  
'Cornelius Fillmore... His first name is Cornelius?' Ingrid stifled a little laugh at that.  
  
'Yeah, what a gag, huh? No wonder the guy's so uptight. He wasn't always though, back in grade six-'  
  
'He has a criminal record,' Ingrid stated in disbelief. She stared wide- eyed at the computer screen.  
  
'That's what I was saying. Man, I remember back when I was in grade five he and Sonny pulled off the Millennium protractor heist. It was some piece of work.'  
  
A sly grin came over Ingrid's face. 'This is interesting.'  
  


* * *

  
Next Chapter: Ingrid meets an old friend of Fillmore's, and 'Cornelius' begins to get a tad suspicious about Third. 


	6. The Under Hand

SPECIAL AUTHOR'S NOTE THAT WASN'T HERE BEFORE: I'm REALLY sorry guys, but I'm gone on vacation for the next week, and I don't have a chapter ready to post for tonight. Suffice to say that the time allotted to finish the chapter was taken up by an urgent matter. Anyway, I can safely promise TWO chapters by the end of Saturday, the, um, 20th? Whatever the Saturday is of that week. Sorry again! Don't hate me!  
  
~Eka  
  
Title: The Scales Tipped Rating: PG  
  
Soulful-sin- You guys are just too clever! Oh well, I guess I really can't help it if I make it that obvious. But I can tell you now, you'll never guess where this mystery is going! Oh, it's good...  
  
Beth- ... Frogs? 0_o  
  
Toast- I'm glad you liked my last chapter. I thought it was the worst so far! But you've made me feel better about it. I'm hoping it'll all start to tie together soon, because I feel like this plot is moving way too slow!  
  
Blackheart Syaoran- Your reviews are always so long! How do you do it!?!? **dies** OMG, though, I never even considered putting Frank in this story... I wonder? I really liked him. My bro thought the Shredder episode was demented. I say: you suck! It rocked! But I have to say, I was afraid I lost it there for a while. Writer's block is the greatest bane of the universe. Thankfully, though, I got a little inspiration from an unlikely place. The rest of the story is set!  
  
Summersitesprite- Ahhh! Another person who knew it was Sonny! I feel so obvious... But I say, you'll never figure out what's going on with Stingray's op! I'd be so impressed if someone did...  
  
DarkWolfBlade- **smiles** Thank you.  
  
________  
  
'You still owe me, Augie. I've been waiting for a week now.'  
  
'I know, man. But he likes to cover his tracks good.'  
  
'That's an excuse. You said you could find out, and I'm holding you to your word.' The dark-skinned individual leaned in on the smaller boy, pinning him against the wall. Augie stood in the older boy's shadow, hunched over in submission but defiant in his gaze. He hated dealing with jerks like this guy. Sure, they were capable of some brilliant pieces of work, but they were so darn cocky and over-sure of their powers of intimidation.  
  
'Yeah, yeah. I get ya already,' Augie said as he pushed Sonny away from him and escaped to the side. 'Just give me some more time.' Of course, Augie thought to himself, even if guys like this one had egos that were a tad too big, it didn't mean he wouldn't get a sound beating if he didn't follow through with his promise.  
  
The door creaked open and both boys looked up with narrowed eyes. 'Am I interrupting something?' Ingrid asked as she walked in on them. The tension in the room was suffocating.  
  
'Yeah, no. We're just talking over some-'  
  
'Who are you?' Sonny cut Augie off without a thought.  
  
Augie was quick on the uptake. He practically sprinted over to Ingrid and stood beside her with a hand on her shoulder. 'This is the girl I told you about,' he said, gesturing to her with his other hand.  
  
'The one who gave the school a facelift?' Sonny gave Ingrid the once over. She glared at him, disliking his self-assured attitude. She shrugged Augie's hand off of her shoulder and he backed off accordingly.  
  
'Who wants to know?' She asked, eying him with scrutiny.  
  
'This is Sonny,' Augie answered from behind her. He was obviously up for introductions today. 'I told you about him the other day, when we were going over Fillmore's file.'  
  
'Fillmore?' Sonny let suspicion enter his voice again.  
  
'Yeah, it seems like you guys have a common enemy. He's the one who busted her on her locker trip.'  
  
Sonny glanced from Augie to Ingrid, then back to Augie. 'Well it's nice to know that we all have some kind of common ground for friendly bonding, but don't you have some work to do, Augie?'  
  
'That's what I'm telling you, man. She was in Fillmore's file; she knows how to hack the admin's system.'  
  
Sonny looked at her with renewed interest. 'Really?'  
  
'What's it to you?' As high as her IQ was, Ingrid still wasn't quite sure what was going on here. Besides the obvious of course: Augie was trying to sell her hacking abilities as a part of some business arrangement. Something that didn't please her in the least, truth be told.  
  
'Well, Augie. I'll leave you to explain everything to Domino over there. I don't care how you get the info or who you use as a middle man, just find out. Got it?'  
  
'Sure Sonny,' Augie waved good-bye as Sonny closed the door without even looking back. 'Jerk.' Augie rolled his eyes.  
  
'What is this all about?'  
  
'I'm sorry you had to put up with him. He tracked me down and showed up a few minutes before you.'  
  
'Answer the question Augie.' Ingrid crossed her arms. He gave her a shy glance and then sighed.  
  
'Look, I owe him a few favors, alright? But what he's asking me to do is a bit beyond my abilities. You, on the other hand...' He gave her a meaningful look.  
  
Ingrid turned to leave. 'What you owe this guy has nothing to do with me. I'll see you around, Augie.'  
  
'Wait!' He put his hand against the door, holding it closed. She removed her hand from the doorknob. 'All's I need you to do is get me a file on a student, that's it. It took you less than a minute to get a hold on Fillmore's the other day. Come on, I'll owe you.'  
  
'Sounds like you owe a lot of people.'  
  
'About as many people who owe me. That's how it works around here. You scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours. Of course, I like to deal in solid goods, more sure of a payoff that way...'  
  
'Alright, Augie. One file. And you owe me.'  
  
'Knew you'd come around!' he exclaimed triumphantly. He removed his hand from the door to let her pass, but just before she shut it behind her she stuck her head back into the room.  
  
'A word of warning, though. You think Sonny can be a dangerous guy? I guarantee you I could make your life so miserable you'd wish I were as nice a person as Sonny is. Don't mess with me, Augie. And don't pull anything like this on me again.' She shut the door.  
  
Augie stared at the spot where her face had been, and he believed every word she said.  
  
________  
  
Nothing. There was nothing missing. Fillmore sighed and hung the clipboard back on the door. Everything on the invoice was accounted for, from the box of cherry soda to the box of bottled water. Unless...  
  
Fillmore ripped open the lid of the nearest box, a box of water. No, it was full. There was nothing out of place here. Stingray was obviously doing a good job of throwing the Patrol off of his trail with a few red herrings. He closed the door and locked it behind him. He'd have to drop this key off with the janitor on the way back to HQ. He turned around and nearly collided with a passing student.  
  
'Watch it,' a familiar voice said. Fillmore narrowed his eyes automatically. He'd be able to pick out that indignant tone anywhere.  
  
'Good afternoon, Third,' he responded, smoothing out his shirt.  
  
'Not at all, actually. Excuse me Cornelius.' She stalked past him and down the hall. Fillmore watched her go. This was begining to become a routine. He glanced around and noticed the lack of other students. Come to think of it, Ingrid didn't participate in any after school activities, so what was she still doing hanging around school?  
  
Only one way to find out.  
  
He sprinted down the hall and peered carefully around the corner, but she was gone. The hallway was a long one, so the only thing that stood to reason was that she must have gone into one of the rooms. He walked slowly down the hall, hugging the wall. He didn't want her to notice him if she suddenly emerged from wherever she was.  
  
He could hear the muffled sound of voices from somewhere to his left. A door suddenly opened with a shudder, and Fillmore flattened himself against the lockers. But it wasn't Ingrid who appeared then, but Sonny. This situation was getting more suspicious by the minute. Sonny disappeared down the hallway in the opposite direction, and not long after Ingrid exited the room as well. Fillmore got ready to follow her, when he noticed her stick her head back into the room. She was talking; there was someone else in there.  
  
He let her leave. He wanted to know who else was a part of this little conspiracy. The door opened again. A sly smile crept across Fillmore's lips.  
  
'Augie.'  
  
The boy spun around in surprise. 'Ah, uh, hello ocifer.'  
  
'Augie Aguie Augie,' Fillmore shook his head, suddenly in a very good mood. You know, I've been looking for you.  
  
Augie smiled back nervously. 'Yeah, so I heard.'  
  
'I was thinking we could have a little talk.'  
  
Augie suddenly decided to grow a backbone. 'You ain't got nothing on me! I ain't done nothing! I don't have to go anywhere with you.'  
  
'I have some questions, Augie, and you're going to answer them,' Fillmore strode menacingly towards the smaller boy. 'Do I have to cuff you, or are you gonna come quietly.'  
  
'Yeah, yeah, I'll come. Don't get your pants in a knot. But I ain't gonna answer any of your questions. I'm filing a complaint against you. You ain't got no right to drag me into the questioning room.'  
  
'Whatever you say Augie. Get moving.' Fillmore gave him a little shove. Augie stopped and shot the officer a death glare, pulling his shirt straight with a harsh gesture.  
  
At HQ Fillmore didn't give Augie two seconds to say one word on anything before he was in the interrogation room. 'Yo man, I wanna talk to your superior.'  
  
'You can sit down Augie, I haven't asked my questions yet.'  
  
A knock on the door cut Fillmore off. He turned to find Vallejo standing there with a telling look on his face.  
  
'What do you think you're doing?' The Junior Commissioner blared at him. Fillmore glanced through the one-way window, watching Augie sit back on two legs of his chair. 'You can't bring him in here without a justified reason, Fillmore! They questioned him already, he didn't say anything that linked him at all with Stingray, ergo he is a free man who has committed no crime! Now send him on his way!'  
  
Fillmore walked resignedly back into the interrogation room. Augie now had his hands behind his head, looking as if he were enjoying himself.  
  
'Alright Augie, you can go.' Augie stood up and went to the door, but Fillmore blocked the way.  
  
'Do ya mind?'  
  
'What were you doing with Third and Sonny?'  
  
'Hey, I'm a free man!' he moved around Fillmore and backed out the door. 'Sorry ocifer, but I have the right to remain silent.'  
  
'Then do us a favor and shut-up, would ya?' Fillmore smiled as Anza approached them. 'Tough luck, Fillmore.' They both watched Augie waltz out of HQ. 'But did you find out anything about those beverage shipments?'  
  
'No. They're all there. I dunno what's going on. I think Neil might have been right in guessing they were feeding him false information. None of this is making any sense.'  
  
'Oh, I left a copy of his report on your desk. You might want to read through it when you get the chance.'  
  
'Thanks man,' Fillmore gave Anza a light punch on the arm and walked distractedly over to his fish bowl. 'Hey.'  
  
'Fillmore!' He sighed and turned. Suddenly all of his energy seemed to be gone. He could really use a good night's sleep. Tehama walked up to him and handed him a file folder. 'I finally got around to analyzing that bottle you left on my desk.'  
  
'Oh yeah? What'd you find out?'  
  
'It's a cleaning agent. Well, not a commercial one anyway. It looks like it was homemade. Looking at it, I'd say it's pretty good at dissolving things like spray-paint, or-'  
  
'Spray-paint?' Fillmore smiled and shook his head. Third really did deserve a lot of credit.  
  
Maybe more than he realized. The smile hardened into a frown.  
  
________  
  
Next Chapter: Ingrid gets started on her little assignment and suddenly finds herself the centre of some unwanted attention. Fillmore investigates just what's going between Augie, Ingrid, and Sonny while trying to figure out if they have any connection to Stingray. 


	7. Hacking at the Facts

Blackheart Syaoran- Hmm... Still need to figure out if there's a way to work Frank Bishop into this story. If not this one, than the next one for sure. ^^ Yes, I know. Stingray ^^;. He sucks. How could such a supposed brilliant bad guy actually be an idiot like Derek Minna? Only God knows. As for Ingrid and Augie, I was going to have them be 'friends' but then Ingrid's character kind of took over. It'd be hard to make them close when she's as cold a person as I'm writing her. Besides, as you'll probably see later on, she likes him anyway, no matter how she acts. You can probably pick up on it a little in this chapter too. As for Ingrid being caught or not... No comment!  
  
Soulful-sin- Try again! I'm not British! ^_^ And hidden agendas are so much fun... The only problem is that half the time I forget what they were and have to sit down and think about where it was I was going with whatever. v_v;  
  
Toast- fanfiction.net was messing with EVERYBODY! It was CRAZY! I was like UPDATE! And it was like NO! 0_o... But it's fixed now... ^^; Again, no comment on how it turns out! If I told you then you'd have no reason to read the rest of it... ^^  
  
Comickook- I'm glad you like the fic! Wow, everyone seems to want to have a say in the ending... Well, say whatever you want, but I've already decided what's going to happen! ^_^  
  
Alixi- 'Bravo'. XD! Reminds of this time I went to the ballet, and at the end when we were applauding, this big guy sitting behind me was actually shouting BRAVO! at the top of his lungs. X_x  
  
Chris- Glad you like! ^^  
  
________  
  
Fillmore sat at his desk with his hands templed in front of his face. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he stared out across Safety Patrol HQ. It was early on Friday morning, and the office was empty but for him thus far. A copy of Neil's report was sitting on the desk between his elbows. Some of the pages were dog-eared, and it looked worse for wear. Fillmore had been pouring over it all, and had come in to the office early. He guessed he was hoping that walking in to X would suddenly reveal to him a new angle that he hadn't considered before. It didn't.  
  
Fillmore leaned back in his chair and sighed resignedly. Thelonius was swimming happily around in his fish bowl. Fillmore cracked a small smile for his tiny friend and pulled out a bottle of fish food from his desk. 'Hey man. Haven't had much of a chance to talk to you lately, huh? It's just you and me now, since Wayne left.'  
  
The smile on Fillmore's face faded again. He was still smarting a little from his partner leaving. The pain had been buried for a while there, covered up by mountains of paperwork and leads and beats. 'But I still have you, don't I?' Fillmore smiled weakly, looking back at his fish. 'You're not going anywhere.'  
  
He turned back to the report and flipped through the pages aimlessly. He needed something, anything. Sitting here in limbo was driving him mad. There were no leads, no clues. How could anybody be as clever as this Stingray was making himself (or herself) out to be? No one was. Every criminal slipped up in one way or another. That's how they were caught. And they were always caught. It was his job to make sure of that.  
  
But this... This was one giant mess. An invisible one. This was like a spider's web. He knew it was there, but he just couldn't see it. Every time the light started to catch on the threads, a breath of wind would cause them to shudder and disappear from his sight once again. All he needed was one clear ray of light, one look straight to the heart of this tangled design.  
  
Fillmore forced his attention back to the words on the page. Neil had written pages and pages of nothing. No matter how many times he went over it... The last day of his undercover assignment was supposed to be the day that Stingray would make some kind of move. Whatever the deal was, it was planned to take place in an empty storage room. Of course, if this was a deal of some kind, then Stingray was obviously dealing with someone. Who? There was a question worth investigating.  
  
Fillmore's mind immediately drifted to Third. His common sense told him that she too new to have broken into the organized crime ring this quickly, and yet he had seen her with Sonny just yesterday. And Neil had said that something had occurred to push up the date that the deal was supposed to take place on. Could that something have been the arrival of Third? If only he had been able to hear what she and Sonny were talking about yesterday!  
  
Just this suspicion wasn't enough for Fillmore, though. He didn't know enough about her to determine what kind of a role she would play in all of this. Sure, she was smart. But how did she choose to put those smarts to use in the field? Spray-painting was probably not a skill that Stingray cared too much about.  
  
Her pristine record came to mind. Somehow he doubted that he bad streak had just magically manifested itself when she walked into X. There had to have been other incidents, other crimes that had gotten her kicked out of all the schools she had attended before. And just maybe Third's criminal history could help shed some light on what kind of a role she was playing in all of this.  
  
The problem was finding out that criminal history. Her permanent record was clean, obviously because the powers that be had decided not to taint such a gifted student. That wouldn't help him in the least, then. What he needed was to get at the records that were locked away. He needed...  
  
'Yo, Jeff. You in?'  
  
A thin boy with thick rimmed glasses glanced up from his computer at the sound of knocking and the mention of his name. When he saw who was there, he broke into a toothy grin. 'Officer Fillmore! You're at school early this morning. What can I do for you?'  
  
'I need a little help with something, off the record.'  
  
'Anything! After what you did to help the Computer Club out of that jam, we owe you big time!'  
  
Fillmore dragged a chair over to the computer where Jeff was working and sat down on it backwards. 'I need to get into some student records. The locked kind.'  
  
Jeff looked slightly confused for a moment. 'Locked? You mean you need me to hack?'  
  
Fillmore frowned. 'If that's what it takes.'  
  
Jeff dropped his eyes to the keyboard in front of him. 'Normally I wouldn't engage in such a thing. But in this case,' he looked up again with a friendly smile, 'I'm sure it's in the best interests of everyone involved.'  
  
'You're right in that guess.'  
  
'So, who am I researching for you?'  
  
'Ingrid Third.'  
  
Jeff's fingers immediately flew into a frenzy as he typed frantically away. 'Let's just have a look-see at her record here so we know what school databases to search...' he said quietly, more to himself than Fillmore. 'Wow, that quite a list.' A long page off names popped up on the screen.  
  
'Maybe we should just start with the first four?' Fillmore suggested.  
  
'Good idea,' Jeff responded as he began to type away again. Fillmore watched as small boxes appeared and disappeared again, at a complete loss as to what was going on. After a few minutes Jeff sat back in his chair. 'Third, you say her name is?' Fillmore nodded, his eyes bent on the computer screen. 'She sure has quite the history...' Jeff trailed off.  
  
And he wasn't exaggerating. Stink bombs, breaking and entering. After a little more digging they found out the school in Nepal was actually a reform school. Fillmore's suspicions were confirmed. Third was bad news. But she was his problem now.  
  
He walked slowly back to his office, with a printout of everything he'd found in hand. Third had been in a lot of trouble, but the clincher would be figuring out exactly how she fit into the picture here at X. She was obviously capable of a lot. She wasn't someone he could take the chance of underestimating. The only solution would be to keep an eye on her for now.  
  
________  
  
Ingrid found herself once again seated at the computer in the archive room. Alone, this time. Augie, it seemed, was no where to be found. Just as well, she'd rather be alone right now. Or at least not in his company. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was being manipulated, and that was the exact game Augie was trying to play.  
  
She'd play with him for now. There was nothing to lose by helping him out- she just didn't like being on the receiving end of orders. The power to choose for herself was something she valued. Augie would know that now, after the little lecture she'd given him yesterday. Besides, that guy, Sonny, probably would've put him in the hospital if she hadn't agreed to help. Augie wasn't exactly built for taking on the kinds of goons that Sonny more than likely had connections with.  
  
The guy she'd been asked to look up was named Simon Langley. An initial search of the school's database immediately turned up articles from the Examiner about his involvement in the Chemistry.  
  
Ingrid flew through them, meaning to go over them later. From what she could quickly gather, he was one of the leading members of the Chemistry club. The articles talked about some of the projects that they worked on: firework shows and the like. This kind of information probably wouldn't impress Sonny, though. It didn't really impress her either.  
  
The small room filled with the rhythmic pounding of the computer keys. Ingrid quickly dug her way into the office files, and located Langley's with some ease. Without bothering to read it, she clicked 'print'.  
  
Only after did she stop to wonder where the printer was. 'Snap,' she said under her breath, realizing that it was probably in the main library. If the librarian had seen what was printed off, he would probably get suspicious. After all, how on earth could a student legally get access to closed files?  
  
Her fears were immediately relieved when she peered cautiously around a bookshelf. The librarian was completely lost in the book he was reading. Actually, the printer wasn't anywhere near where he was sitting behind his desk anyway. It was over by the line of computers down the right wall.  
  
Ingrid rounded the corner and strode purposefully towards the printer. Picking up the sheets she glanced to her left. There was a guy working on the computer, seemingly ignoring her. She walked around him and picked up a stapler that was lying on the desk. Stapling the two sheets together, she tucked them into her bag. Ingrid was about to leave, when she realized that the computer in the archives was still on, with the windows open for all to see.  
  
Heaving a sigh at the neglectfulness that seemed to be hounding her today, she made her way back to the archives. She moved the mouse to click the little 'x'. The arrow passed over a number, and she stopped. It was the number of people logged on to the system. 2. That was rather curious, since it was still so early in the morning. School hadn't even started yet. Perhaps one of the secretaries in the office was working on the system, but still... Something was strange about this.  
  
Ingrid moved her fingers comfortably over the keyboard, tracing the path of whoever else was on the system. She wanted to know, despite her better judgment on curiosity, what the other person was doing.  
  
A window popped up. It was a student record. It was hers.  
  
Ingrid's eyes narrowed into slits. Someone was reading up on her, and she had a strong suspicion that it wasn't a secretary in the office. Augie couldn't hack, Sonny couldn't hack or he would've done it himself, but then, maybe it was someone else...  
  
Fillmore.  
  
He had shown an interest in her past offences. Ingrid frowned coldly. He had had a copy of her transcript with him in the interview room. Why would he have to hack? The answer came when another small window popped up. A list of past attended schools. Then the user logged off.  
  
Well, that made sense then. The record had been clean, so he wanted to search each of her past schools databases to find out if she had committed any crimes while attending them.  
  
This sneaking around actually surprised her a little. He seemed more like the kind of guy who would get right in your face about it. Hacking was, after all, illegal. But then, he had a criminal history of his own.  
  
Ingrid logged out of the database and headed out of the library. Augie's locker was #347. He said she could just slide the info in through the slats in the door. Ingrid dropped her bag on the ground and took out the papers. Without any glances over her shoulders or careful looks around, she slipped them into his locker like it was the most normal thing to be doing in the world. Someone walked past her, whistling. Now //that// was conspicuous.  
  
Ingrid snuck a look at the guy as she picked her bag back up off the floor. It was the same guy from the library. He turned left into the washroom. Ingrid kept moving down the hallway. It was time to pay a little visit to Fillmore.  
  
________  
  
Next Chapter: Someone's got their eye on Ingrid and Augie's every move. Meanwhile, Ingrid and Fillmore get to know one another a little better. 


	8. Fear to Tread

Sorry for the day late update. Fanfiction.net was being CRAZY! Last night. 0_o  
  
Chris- **smile** **is complimented** Thank you! ^_^  
  
Soph- Glad you like!  
  
Blackheart Syaoran- I guess Frank isn't going to make it into this story. v_v Sorry. Next one, though! Promise! And forgive Fillmore. You know he's obsessed with catching the bad guys... OBSESSED...  
  
Summersitesprite- Here is your next chapter! Are you gonna want the next one too since they get to know each other even more? ^^  
  
Soulful-sin- Ah, it's not much of a confrontation. Sorry. And your guess wasn't bad! We have the Queen on our coins, anyway. I em frum Canada! ^_^  
  
________  
  
Ingrid slipped into the office and shut the door quietly behind her. There were officers at desks, answering phones, chatting by the water cooler. An average day at work. From an enclosed office to the left she could hear someone yelling.  
  
She took in everything as she wandered slightly lost-like into the room. As if on cue, an officer came over to her. 'Can I help you?' a girl with pink highlights in her hair asked.  
  
Ingrid smiled amiably. 'I'm supposed to be meeting Officer Fillmore...'  
  
'Oh,' the officer bit her lip. 'Well, he's not back yet, but his desk is right back there by the window. Just pull up a chair. He should be back soon.'  
  
'Thanks.'  
  
Ingrid ventured to the desk the girl had pointed out. She already knew where it was from her last visit to headquarters. Better to play dumb, though. They'd be more likely to ignore her if they thought she was supposed to be here. She dropped her bag by the corner of the desk then glanced back over her shoulder. Completely ignored.  
  
With smooth movements, she glided around the desk and opened the drawers one by one. Another glance up. No one looking. The bottom drawer showed her what she was looking for. She palmed it.  
  
'What are you doing?' a male voice asked.  
  
Ingrid looked up to find an officer eying her suspiciously. It was the same guy who had busted her on the spray-paint trip. Anza, if she wasn't mistaken. 'Officer Fillmore made an appointment to see me, something about a case he's working on. But he's not here, and I have to go. I thought I'd leave a note, but I can't seem to find a pen.' She said it all without a blink. She even added a shy smile at the end of it to play off the innocence.  
  
He gave her a strange look, then pulled a pen out a cup sitting on the desk. 'Oh,' Ingrid took the offered pen. 'Silly me.' She wrote said note under the supervision of the officer, who escorted her to the door when she was finished.  
  
'I'll let Fillmore know you stopped by,' Anza said.  
  
'Thanks, he knows where to reach me.'  
  
Ingrid strode swiftly down the hall, and when she felt Anza's gaze leave her, she slipped the concealed item into her backpack. The halls were rather crowded; lunch had started. Now that Fillmore was taken care of, she decided to pay a visit to her designated 'partner in crime'.  
  
She found Augie kneeled on the floor picking up scattered papers in front of his locker. Said locker was broken open, its contents vandalized. There were torn textbooks and binders, and green spray-paint everywhere. Augie was muttering curses under his breath. She stopped behind him.  
  
'Did they take it?'  
  
'No,' he answered. 'I gave it to Sonny this morning.' He leaned back on his heals and sighed. 'Man, I hate messing with these people. You mess with them, they mess your locker.'  
  
'At least it's only your locker,' Ingrid pointed out as she closed the locker door slightly so she could se the front. 'Step off, huh?' She read the words sprayed on the door allowed.  
  
'Yeah,' Augie laughed mirthlessly. 'Messing with your locker is only step one. Next they mess with your face.'  
  
'Unless of course you step off.'  
  
'Yeah yeah.'  
  
'So who are they?' she asked.  
  
'What'd ya mean?' he shot back.  
  
'These people you hate messing with?' Ingrid's eyes were narrow. She meant business. But Augie wasn't in the mood.  
  
'Anybody bigger than me,' he answered as he slammed his locker door and walked away.  
  
Ingrid leant back on the lockers in defeat and looked at the ceiling. Augie could be really moody when he wanted to be. God. But she could find out who had done this easily enough. The only person who had seen her put those papers in Augie's locker was the same guy who had been on the computer that morning.  
  
She closed her eyes and sighed. How did Augie expect her to help him out if was going to be so darn stubborn about all of this? Shrimp. If she wasn't mistaken, students had to sign in to use the computers in the library. She could just check the log and find out what the guy's name was.  
  
Her stomach grumbled. She hadn't eaten breakfast this morning. Relenting her position against the lockers, Third made for the library. She would check for stalker-boy's name, then eat lunch.  
  
________  
  
Fillmore tapped his foot; even if was a girly thing to do. It was more out of a sudden burst of ADD then annoyance, anyway. Well, maybe it was a bit of annoyance. The line-up for the vending machines had been at a standstill for the past five minutes. How long did it take to drop a couple coins into a machine and push a button?  
  
When he heard raised voices, he looked up. At the start of the line was Peabody, arguing and throwing his arms around. Who he was 'conversing' with, Fillmore couldn't quite see. He pushed his way to the front of the line.  
  
'Is there a problem gentlemen?' Fillmore asked. Peabody stopped mid- sentence to glare at the officer.  
  
'Not that I'm aware of. Why, is there?' Peabody snapped back.  
  
'You're holding up the line,' Fillmore pointed a thumb over his shoulder at a bunch of disgruntled looking students.  
  
Peabody turned back to the person he had been shouting at. It was a shorter student, dressed in a mechanics jumpsuit and holding a tape measure. He had apparently been measuring the amount of space left behind by the vending machines that had taken a fall a few weeks ago. 'You,' Peabody pointed at the kid. 'In my office.'  
  
Fillmore watched them go, then took the opportunity to grab himself a snack. Then his walkie-talkie went off.  
  
'Fillmore, ya there?'  
  
He pulled it off his belt. 'Yeah, Anza. Go ahead.'  
  
'Did you arrange to meet Third at HQ?'  
  
Fillmore frowned. 'No, why?'  
  
'She was here just a couple minutes ago under the premise that she was supposed to be meeting you. I found her going through your desk, though she said she was looking for a pen, I don't trust her. You might wanna come and make sure nothing's missing.'  
  
'Yeah, I'm on my way. Thanks man.'  
  
'No problem. Anza out.'  
  
Fillmore jetted back to HQ. What the heck was Third playing at? Only she would waltz into Safety Patrol Headquarters and pilfer an officer's desk. Anza was there waiting for him when he got back. 'Here,' he handed Fillmore a post-it note. 'She left this.'  
  
'Sorry I missed you,' Fillmore read aloud. 'Call me if you still want to know.' 'What does she mean by "want to know"?' Anza asked.  
  
'I have no idea... Hey Anza, what's the date?'  
  
'Uh, the 23rd isn't it?'  
  
'You're kidding me,' Fillmore said under his breath.  
  
'Well it might be the 24th. I could go ask Tehama if you want me to.'  
  
'Thanks Anza. That's alright man.'  
  
'Yeah, whatever Fillmore,' Anza waved and went back to work. He was completely lost at whatever was going through Fillmore's head, and he wasn't in the mood to care.  
  
The moment Anza was gone, Fillmore pulled out his walkie-talkie. If he was right, and Third was really that clever, (which she probably was), in place of the date, she had written a radio frequency. As he played with the dials, he checked the bottom drawer on his desk. Wayne's talkie was missing.  
  
'So what is it that I want to know exactly?' he spoke into the talkie. He hardly had to wait five seconds before a girl's voice came back.  
  
'You're the one with the questions about me. I thought maybe instead of digging around my old school records you could just ask me straight up.'  
  
'How'd you find out about that?'  
  
'Why were you reading up on me?'  
  
'What are you doing hanging out with Augie and Sonny?'  
  
'Ah, yes. Sonny. Speaking of checking up on records, I heard he used to be your partner in crime.'  
  
Fillmore stopped. It would've come out eventually anyway.  
  
'Back on the wrong side of the tracks again, Fillmore?' she asked in a mocking tone.  
  
'I went straight, and I'm not going back. I have a better life now.'  
  
'Don't get all preachy with me, especially since less than five hours ago you were hacking into the school database to check up on me. Not exactly a legal activity, you know. Or you should. It's your job to enforce the law.'  
  
Fillmore said nothing. She was right; he'd known it was wrong before she lectured him. 'And it's not like this is your first indiscretion in the past month. Let's not forget it was you who stretched the law to keep me at X.'  
  
'I didn't rig that jury,' he ground out.  
  
'No, but someone had to talk to Folsom and convince her I was worth keeping around. She would've rather had me out of her school, don't you think? You're the one who enjoys a challenge. And you have one now, don't you. You've tipped those little scales of justice, Fillmore, and they're in my favour.'  
  
'Third, are you just going to play head games with me? 'Cause I'm hungry, and I want to eat my lunch.'  
  
'What do you know about Simon Langley?' she asked all of a sudden.  
  
'Who?'  
  
'Nothing then.'  
  
'Should I have been checking up on him this morning instead of you?'  
  
'No need, that's what I was doing.'  
  
'You're not exactly all good either then, are you? And what are you interested in some guy named Simon Langley for?'  
  
'We already knew I was bad news, and I'm not the one interested. I was commissioned by your friend Sonny.'  
  
'Sonny. But this Langley kid is just a science geek. I don't understand why Sonny interested in him. I dropped the info I printed out at Augie's locker, and a few hours later find it busted in and vandalized.'  
  
'So Sonny's poking his nose where it doesn't belong. He's trying to figure out someone else's game, and they want him to step off.'  
  
There was a pause.  
  
________  
  
Ingrid flipped open the log book while she listened to Fillmore talk.  
  
'I'll look up on the Simon Langley kid too, see what I can find out.'  
  
'Appreciate it Fillmore,' she replied. The name Freddie Klein stared up at her. She smiled in victory.  
  
'What makes you think I'm gonna share what I find with you, Third?'  
  
'Share it, or lose it. I've raided your desk before Fillmore.'  
  
'You're on Third, you're on.'  
  
________  
  
Next Chapter: Ingrid follows a paper trail that might be leading... she has no clue where. Augie runs into trouble i.e. a fist. Fillmore and Ingrid seem to be in a budding relationship, but will they be able to work together to figure this mess out? 


	9. Ailing Suspicions

Sorry about the long wait! I've had soooo much homework lately, and this chapter's been sitting half-finished on my hard-drive for over a week! I made it extra long to make up for the wait. Enjoy! ^_^  
  
Yuvia- I'm glad you like my story! But you're off the money with Simon Langley, I'm telling you now! ^_^  
  
Eliza- Yo! Haven't seen you around in a while! Hope Grad was fun! ^_^ I WANT FREEDOM!!!  
  
Chris- You'd never believe how much trouble those stupid chapter titles give me. ^^;  
  
Soulful sin- ^^; Sorry the confrontation wasn't up to your expectations... I suppose this one won't be either... But bare with me? I'm going in a different direction than most people figured I would, I guess. But I hope you still like it!  
  
Blackheart Syoaran- NO! Don't hate Folsom! **loves Folsom** She's brillinat! ^_^ But you're right, Poor Auggie! I pick on him too much I think... ^^;  
  
________  
  
What on earth was she playing at? That's what was running through Fillmore's head. And whose side was she on, anyway? She wasn't on the bad guy side, since she was working against them, and she wasn't on the good guy side, because she wasn't working with him. Just using him to find her own ends.  
  
Who was he kidding? This girl played by her own rules. Her purpose was to cruise through school and have everything to her own advantage. The only thing that didn't fit with that picture, though, was the fact that she was sticking her nose in some potentially dangerous business. Sure, maybe she could get involved in whatever scheme this was and make some money, but Third was more of a solo girl. Group work wasn't to her taste.  
  
So why was she asking him to look into this Langley kid? Fillmore sighed and shook his head. No matter how many times he went around everything, he only ended up with more questions. Third really was a puzzle. But she didn't act carelessly. She wouldn't have asked him to look up Simon if she hadn't wanted him involved in this. Because she knew he would get involved. No, this was a very calculated move on her part. So two more questions: 'What is the equation?' and 'What is the answer?'.  
  
A shadow fell across his desk. Fillmore looked up from his computer to find Vallejo looking down at him. 'Hard at work. That's nice to see. What'cha doing, Fillmore?'  
  
Fillmore leaned back and stretched. 'Following up a lead.'  
  
Vallejo eyed him skeptically and swiveled the monitor around so he could read it. 'Simon Langley? Exactly where is this lead leading you?'  
  
'I have no clue,' Fillmore replied.  
  
'Fillmore,' Vallejo said, his voice taking on a serious edge, 'We don't have time to be running around chasing science nerds. If Stingray isn't caught soon, Folsom's gonna have this place turned into a cold-cut storage facility.'  
  
'I know,' Fillmore interjected. 'Look, all I was given was a name. Just let me follow it up, and if I can't find a connection, I'll drop it.'  
  
'Fine. Just get on with it already.' Vallejo was rubbing his temples now.  
  
'Thanks man.' Fillmore jumped up and grabbed his jacket. According to the school records, Langley had put in a motion to run a scientific experiment with the school council over 20 times, and it was refused all twenty. The first thing he needed was a copy of that motion. Then he'd talk to Langley.  
  
A few metres from the door to Student Council, Fillmore picked up the sound of Peabody's raised voice. So the guy was still on a power trip. He just never stopped. Fillmore pushed open the door and slid inside unnoticed.  
  
It seemed Peabody was still tearing up the Measuring Tape Guy. Said guy was just ignoring Peabody. Completely. He must've given up reasoning a while ago. Peabody turned his attention to another guy sitting at a desk outside Peabody's office. The nameplate on the desk read Assistant to Mr. Peabody: Freddie Klein.  
  
The assistant fumbled around with a stack of papers that had just come out of the printer and offered them to Peabody, who promptly snatched them out of his hand. Glancing at the papers, he turned a deep shade of red, then stormed into his office. The whole room shuddered at the slamming of the door. Measuring Tape Guy took this as his cue to leave and exited through the door Fillmore had come in.  
  
The assistant went back to typing on his computer, and all in all looked relatively unphased by what had just happened. Fillmore could sense a look of relief behind his eyes, though.  
  
He approached the desk and cleared his throat. The assistant looked up. 'Can I help you?'  
  
'Safety Patrol, Officer Cornelius Fillmore,' he flashed his badge. A flittering look of panic crossed Freddie's face. 'I was wondering if I could get a copy of a motion put in by Simon Langley last month.'  
  
'Oh, sure. Just wait while I pull it up... Here it is. Normally I charge 10 cents a page-school policy-but since you're on police business I'll wave the fee.'  
  
'Thanks,' Fillmore took the papers from the assistant. 'See ya round.'  
  
In a change of direction, Fillmore headed over to the science labs. Langley would probably be found there. While he walked, he read through the motion he'd just had printed off.  
  
Supposedly this guy, however much of a science nerd, was violently opposed to animal dissection in schools. He put in repeated motions to have it banned, but with no success. The school felt it beneficial to education that students partake in animal dissections, so Langley was turned down.  
  
Fillmore knocked on the door of the science lab. A small brown-haired boy in a lab coat and goggles answered the door. 'May I help you?'  
  
'Yeah,' Fillmore flashed his badge. 'I'm looking for Simon Langley.'  
  
'Oh. Simon doesn't come to Chemistry Club on Tuesdays.'  
  
'Really? Why not?'  
  
'I don't know. Some other commitment.' 'Hey Elliot!' another goggle-eyed student called from the back of the room.  
  
The brown-haired boy turned around and looked over his shoulder. 'Yeah, what is it?'  
  
'I can't find the hydrochloric acid! You know where it is?'  
  
'I'll be there in a sec,' he turned back to Fillmore. 'Sorry, got to go.'  
  
'No problem. Thanks for your help.'  
  
Fillmore walked with a lagging pace back to HQ. He seemed incredibly off- beat lately; nothing seemed to be working out right. Then again, maybe the answers were staring him right in the face and he just couldn't see it. As he walked past the entrance to the cafeteria, he noticed the Tape Measure Guy back at work. He went over and leaned against the doorway.  
  
'So what was Peabody so happy about?' he asked.  
  
The Tape Measure Guy rolled his eyes. 'Alls I'm supposed to do is measure this space here for the new vending machines. Then this Peabody guy comes over, asks me what I'm doing. I tell him: "I'm measuring for the new vending machines". He says: "What vending machine?", and I say: "The ones I've been told to measure for!". Well, the guy blows his top, sayin' "There are no new vending machines in the budget we planned last week!".'  
  
'And so I'm all, "Well, what am I supposed to do about it?" Then he drags me back to his office and has his assistant print off a copy of the budget. 'O course, there're vending machines. So here I am, where I was two hours ago, doin' a job that shoulda taken five minutes.'  
  
'Tough luck,' Fillmore sympathized. Odd thing about the budget though, Peabody usually had a handle on those sorts of things.  
  
__________  
  
'Dill or BBQ?'  
  
Ingrid's eyes scrapped open, sticky and red with sleep. Her head was pounding. She tried to lift her head off of the pillow, but it just made the room spin. Giving up, she flopped back down.  
  
'You there, Third?'  
  
Oh. So that's what woke her up. She reached out her arm and it blindly landed on her night table. Without re-opening her eyes, she felt around for the walkie-talkie she'd lifted from Fillmore's desk.  
  
'What do you want, Fillmore?'  
  
'I can't decide between Dill or BBQ chips. Help me out,' Fillmore replied.  
  
Ingrid rolled her eyes, or she would've if they were open. 'Not the best choice for breakfast. Why are you bugging me this early, anyway?'  
  
'It's 2:30 in the afternoon! Where are you, Third?'  
  
That was enough to make her eyes open. She shot up, ignoring the pounding in her head, and looking at the clock on her night table. It read 2:37pm. 'Crackers!'  
  
'Sleep in?'  
  
'Shut up, Fillmore,' she growled. Why hadn't her dad or sister woken her up? She jumped out of bed and ran around her room collecting various articles of clothing. Then, reaching down to pick up a pair of socks off the floor – 'Oof!'  
  
'Third, you okay? I heard a crash,' Fillmore's voice came over the walkie- talkie.  
  
Ingrid lay on the floor for a moment, holding her head. The whole room seemed like it was shaking. Slowly, she picked up the walkie-talkie from where it had fallen beside her. 'I think I'm sick,' she said into it.  
  
'The invincible Ingrid Third gets sick!' he sounded scandalized.  
  
She scowled, though he couldn't see her. This wasn't funny. She never got sick. And her head wouldn't stop pounding. And she couldn't think straight... And why was she on the floor? Oh yeah, she'd fallen...  
  
'So, are you going to answer my question anytime soon?' his voice interrupted her swimming thoughts.  
  
'What question was that?'  
  
'Dill or BBQ?'  
  
Her scowl deepened. She didn't like being messed around with like this. It was so juvenile. 'Screw you, Fillmore.' Ingrid then turned off the walkie- talkie and flung it as best she could in her weakened state across the room.  
  
She'd just missed a whole day of school, been harassed by a Safety Patrol Officer, fallen ill, and she wasn't sure if she'd be able to get up off the floor. Today wasn't her day. Good thing she'd slept most of it away. In a way she was kind of glad no one had gotten her up this morning, now.  
  
With great effort, she pushed herself up and staggered back over to her bed. What a waste. She'd had a bunch of things to do today. Check up on Freddie Klein for one thing. He was key in all of this, he had to be. And Simon Langley... Maybe Fillmore had found out some things about him...  
  
Ingrid figured she must have fallen asleep, because she found herself being woken up by the sound of the doorbell. 'Of all days to forget her key,' Ingrid mumbled as she untwisted herself from her blankets and went downstairs to let Ariella in. She was pleased to find that the house wasn't spinning anymore.  
  
Ingrid opened the door, but it wasn't Ariella.  
  
'Ingrid.'  
  
'How'd you get my address?' she snapped.  
  
'I didn't have to hack for it, if that's what you mean. It's kept on file for questioning purposes when you're involved in a crime,' Fillmore replied coolly.  
  
'Why are you here?'  
  
'Are you going to let me in, or do I have to stay out here on the porch?'  
  
Ingrid eyed him warily, then stepped out of the way.  
  
'Thank you,' Fillmore said. 'Feeling better?' he asked after she'd closed the door.  
  
'Will you tell me why you're here now?' she questioned, ignoring his polite inquires.  
  
Fillmore smiled, more to himself than to her. 'You like to get straight to the point, don't you? I brought over the information I found on Simon Langley. Thought you might like a look at it.' He pulled a stack of papers out of his backpack.  
  
'You talk to him?' She took the papers and went into the kitchen, motioning for him to follow.  
  
'No, he's nowhere to be found on Tuesday afternoons, it seems.'  
  
'Likes organic chemistry, does he?'  
  
'Huh?' 'There's a note attached to his transcript, from his science teacher. Says he's very gifted in organic chemistry. Looks like a recommendation for some fancy science program.' Third looked mildly impressed. 'He must be pretty advanced for our grade level.'  
  
'I just can't find a connection between him and the Stingray case,'' Fillmore said, watching for Third's reaction.  
  
'What made you think there was a connection?' Third replied, eyeing him back.  
  
Fillmore hardened. 'Look, my job is a serious one. I don't have time to play games with you, Third. You can't just call me up whenever you feel like it and expect me to do your biding!'  
  
Third turned on him, but in a nonchalant manner, ignoring his tone of voice. 'Talk to Langley, or at least someone who knows him. You've got a motive, here, that would stand up at trial. He's angry with the school for allowing animal dissections. So just talk to him. I guarantee you there's something here, something that doesn't add up.'  
  
Fillmore was tempted to rub his temples, the way Vallejo did when he was upset. But, surprisingly, Third beat him to it. 'Would you mind leaving now?' she asked.  
  
'Still sick?'  
  
She threw him a contemptuous look. 'I could hardly have gotten better in the space of one hour, Fillmore.'  
  
He raised an eyebrow, and she could tell he was making a note of how grouchy she could be when she put her mind to it.  
  
'Sit down,' he instructed.  
  
'Why?'  
  
'You haven't had anything to eat yet, have you? Sit down. I'll put something together. You'll feel better with some food in your stomach.'  
  
Ingrid obeyed, too tired to fight and rather amused. Officer Cornelius Fillmore was in her kitchen making her breakfast. Or, close enough to breakfast, anyway. But her amusement didn't show on her face; it was more of an ironic sort of hilarity anyway.  
  
________  
  
Auggie thumped against the bathroom wall, and the bigger boy pinned him there. On either side he was flanked by two more goons, both massaging their knuckles, waiting to have their turns hitting him. 'Thought you got the message,' the biggest guy said.  
  
'Loud and clear,' Auggie replied, his voice containing a false cheeriness.  
  
'Obviously not loud enough,' and with that another punch connected with Auggie's stomach. The small boy tried to double over in pain, but he was held upright by a firm grip.  
  
'You think this hurts,' the guy snickered. 'We catch you snooping around again, you OR your girl friend, and you'll learn a new meaning of pain.'  
  
The bug guy dropped Auggie and backed off, letting his two 'friends' have goes kicking him while he lay crumpled on the floor.  
  
________  
  
Next Chapter: Things are getting dangerous! When Ingrid finally stumbles on a connection, will she be safe? And will the relationship forming between her and Fillmore be enough to pull them through the rocky events ahead? To find out, read the next chapter of The Scales Tipped, same bat time, same bat channel! ^_^ 


	10. Aspirin equals Acetylsalicylic Acid

Anime princess4- I'm glad you like it! Yeah, it's a bit more realistic than the tv series, and I like it that way. ^_^ Give the fic a bit of a darker edge, no?  
  
Blackheart Syaoran- I dunno, dissections never bothered me that much, but I know a lot of people who don't like them. Anyway, I'll be sure to check out your fic!  
  
Soph- **blushes** Thank-you. ^_^  
  
Cyberlink42- ^_^  
  
________  
  
Ingrid paced slowly down the hallway, careful to not bump into any of the other students trying to make their way to their lockers. She wasn't sick anymore, but her head was still feeling a little fuzzy. What she need was some aspirin -- that would take care of that problem.  
  
And it needed to be taken care of. She had tuned out her teachers more than once today; her concentration seemed to be suffering. Urg, she hated being sick! She took her vitamins and ate healthy food (for the most part, and she kept fit. But the moment one bug managed to invade her immune system, she was down for the count, so to speak. She suddenly became susceptible to everything, and usually managed to catch everything too.  
  
But then, she was feeling better today. Maybe she would get lucky for once, and not have to put up with being accosted by every disease known to mankind.  
  
Now for that aspirin.  
  
Ingrid finally made it to her locker, and dropped her bag carelessly onto the floor while she swiveled the dial on the lock. Pulling a bottle of aspirin off the top shelf, she quickly pocketed it and closed the door. She knew school policy on drugs as well as the next student. The last thing she needed right now was to be caught with a bottle of aspirin; her day was aggravated enough already.  
  
Marching off to the bathroom, Ingrid no longer bothered taking her time in the hall. She wanted her headache gone and she wanted it gone NOW.  
  
'Mr. Klein!'  
  
Ingrid froze.  
  
'Yes, Mr. Peabody?' a brown-haired boy answered. He had just come out of a room to her right.  
  
'I want extra marshmallows in my hot chocolate this time! Make sure you get it right this time!' a voice bellowed from somewhere in the room.  
  
'Yes, Mr. Peabody,' he answered, then shut the door behind him. Ingrid saw him roll his eyes. She recognized him as the same boy from the library that morning. Klein, Freddie Klein.  
  
She would have followed him, but the sign on the door held more interest. He was only going to get Mr. Peabody a drink anyway. No, the sign on the door seemed to carry some weight in Ingrid's cloudy mind. It read 'Student Council'.  
  
She opened the door slowly and poked her head inside, making sure she was the only one around. There were a few other doors branching off of the room she saw: all of them lead into other offices. They were all labeled with the names of their inhabitants: the one nearest her had 'MR PEABODY' stenciled across it. And in front of it a desk with its own label, 'Assistant to Mr. Peabody: Freddie Klein'.  
  
She entered the room and shut the door. So Mr. Klein worked for Student Council, did he? What a convenient position for tampering with official documents...  
  
And Peabody? Where had she heard that name before? Oh yes. It took her a minute to remember, but it came back: Fillmore had been talking about him yesterday. She guessed it was his way of keeping things from getting a little too awkward. After all, he had been in her own kitchen making her something to eat because she was sick. Awkward. But he hadn't wanted to give her the wrong impression, make her think he was trying to be friends with her. Cornelius Fillmore wasn't the kind of guy who tried to make friends with anybody.  
  
No. He talked business the whole time, only cracked a few jokes; but all of them were related back to 'business' anyway. He had mentioned Peabody, though. There was something about the budget, and the vending machines. He had heard Peabody and some other guy arguing over the vending machines in the budget. That was it. Because the vending machines weren't supposed to be there.  
  
'Well,' Ingrid thought, eyeing the desk, 'if anyone was so perfectly situated to tamper with the budget, it's Freddie Klein.'  
  
'Can I help you?' a voice asked from behind her. Ingrid turned, to find said Mr. Klein giving her a suspicious look. He recognized her; she was sure from the look in his eyes.  
  
'Yes, I--'  
  
'Is that you Klein?' Peabody said, barging out of his office. 'Took you long enough.' He snatched his hot chocolate out of Freddie's hand, then turned on Ingrid. Looking at him, she couldn't help but agree with Fillmore -- his mother dressed him like a sofa.  
  
'Is there something you need?' he snapped, then checked himself. 'My assistant will take care of you,' he motioned to Freddie.  
  
'Actually, I was just browsing through the exchange program brochures. There doesn't seem to be anything good on offer, but then, any school would be better than this dump, wouldn't it?' Ingrid said casually as she slipped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her.  
  
Ugh. What kind of a lame cover was that? But she'd convinced Peabody, at least. The guy had had steam coming out of his ears. She really needed to clear up the mess inside her head, though. Aspirin!  
  
Ingrid once again made her way towards the girls washroom, but thoughts about the case were distracting her. Why did they want vending machines put back into the budget? And what did all of this have to do with a kid who was into science? It didn't make sense. Then again, maybe it did, and she just couldn't make heads or tails of it because her head was so screwed up.  
  
Ingrid deposited her bag on the floor of the girls washroom and pulled the bottle of aspirin. She went over the ingredients in her head, working from photographic memory. 'Heh, that Simon Langley kid has probably made aspirin before,' she thought as she downed a pill.  
  
Suddenly an image came to mind. It was from the day she'd bumped into Fillmore in the hallway. He'd been coming out of a storage room, and inside were boxes stamped with the brand name of a water company.  
  
There were no vending machines in the cafeteria that held water, so... The water must be destined for the new vending machines! That was the next place to look, then.  
  
She tucked the aspirin back into her pocket. The room she'd seen Fillmore come out of wasn't too far from the washroom she was in. Of course, though, the door was locked. No problem for Ingrid, she had picked her fair share of locks, and this door would be no different from the rest when she was finished with it: open.  
  
Inside the boxes all sat neatly stacked, except for one, which sitting on an angle with its top opened. She approached it and pulled out a bottle. Plain, clear water. Her heart fell. She's been hoping that these bottles would offer some sort of explanation for what was going on. But... The seal was broken! What then? What was in these bottles? Ingrid twisted off the lid and took a whiff of the liquid inside, then scrunched up her nose. What was this stuff?  
  
Unless... Organic chemistry... Oh God...  
  
'I knew she'd be here,' a voice said from behind her as the door creaked open. There stood Freddie Klein, flanked by 3 other burly looking students, all staring at her with malicious grins.  
  
________  
  
Fillmore made his way back to the science labs, taking the same route he had yesterday through the crowded hallways. If Simon Langley only took off Tuesday afternoons, then it stood to reason that he'd be there today.  
  
He'd been avoiding Vallejo all morning -- the Junior Commissioner would've blown his to if he'd found out Fillmore was still trying to track down the science kid. He'd promised to drop it if it came to nothing, and so far it had come to nothing...  
  
But after his little conversation with Ingrid yesterday, Fillmore didn't want to let it go. At least to prove her wrong, if nothing else. Her cool know-it-all demeanor grated against him a bit; he always felt like she was putting him in his place. The fact that she had him running around doing errands for her smacked of power-tripping.  
  
But at least she was still human, as he'd had proof of yesterday. The Invincible Ingrid Third, grouchy and sick, miserable and actually willing to put up with the degradation of having Officer Cornelius Fillmore make her breakfast -- or close enough to it, anyway. They'd actually almost had a normal conversation. Almost.  
  
During their meal together she'd had this look of bitter irony in her eyes; amused bitter irony, but bitter irony nonetheless. It made him a little uneasy, no matter how cool he was acting. So he'd stuck to business, a topic both of them could get through without being too personal, making things awkward. He'd done most of the talking, though. She just sat there and listened while she ate her omelet. He'd told her everything about his track down of Simon Langley, even the boring details from Peabody's office. Completely irrelevant, but something to fill the silence.  
  
Fillmore knocked on the door to the science labs. She was so sure that Simon Langley had a part in whatever it was that was going on in X. He'd give her one more chance.  
  
'Yes?' a small boy with red hair answered the door.  
  
'Officer Cornelius Fillmore, X Middle School Safety Patrol,' he said, flashing his badge. 'I'm looking for a Simon Langley.'  
  
'That's me,' the boy answered, opening the door a little wider. He spoke very softly, like a nervous little kid.  
  
'I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.'  
  
'Okay,' he stepped aside and let Fillmore into the lab. 'What do you need to ask me about?'  
  
Snap. What did he need to ask him about? He couldn't come right out and ask this kid if he was Stingray or something, it would completely blow up in his face. Ideas, ideas... Make the guy comfortable...  
  
'I'm here to ask a few questions about the motions you've put into Student Council,' Fillmore said sternly.  
  
'Oh,' was all Simon said, though he seemed to brighten a little. 'You know, when I was in elementary school, our class had a pet frog, named Hermit. Hermit the Frog. We used to take turns, bringing him home to take care of him. I love that frog like he was my own. Then one day, he was taken home and not brought back. When the gruesome details came out...' Simon shuddered. 'One of my classmate's older brothers had taken him to school. Middle School. Turns out that day they were doing frog dissections...' he broke off, leaving the rest to imagination.  
  
'I'm sorry, Simon. It hard when a pet dies,' Fillmore paused, letting Simon recover a bit. 'Do you mind if I ask you those questions now?'  
  
'No, go ahead.'  
  
Fillmore latched onto a recollection of a case Anza was investigating and went with it. 'You remember a few months ago, when 5 of the frogs from the biology lab suddenly disappeared?'  
  
Simon's brow was wrinkled with nervousness. 'Yes,' he whispered, not looking at Fillmore. 'They already questioned me about that.'  
  
'Officer!' a voice called from the back of the room. Fillmore turned around to see the same brown-haired guy who'd answered the door yesterday. 'Are you here about the report we filed?'  
  
'Uh, no. What report?'  
  
The guy crossed his arms, looking very disgruntled, as another boy emerged from the store room behind him. 'Someone's been pilfering our chemical stores! We keep a record of how much is used and for what, and according to those records there are quantities of some chemicals unaccounted for! This is serious!'  
  
'I'm sure there'll be an officer over to talk to you about it soon,' Fillmore said, hearing Simon cough behind him. 'But in the meanwhile, I'll go check on the status of the report you filed.'  
  
'Thank-you!' the boy exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. His tone was sarcastic, though.  
  
Fillmore spun around and faced Simon again. 'I'll be back to talk to you later.'  
  
'Yes Officer.'  
  
As Fillmore made his way back to HQ, he pondered Simon behavior. There was definitely something eating this guy up inside. Maybe Third had been right, then. In any case, he'd be taking a closer look at Simon's activities, for sure.  
  
In any case, his stomach was demanding food. Fillmore sat down at his desk and pulled a sandwich from one of the drawers as Anza wandered over to him. 'You just got back from the science labs, right?'  
  
Fillmore eyed him. 'How'd you know?'  
  
Anza smiled. 'Vallejo's been off his rocker all morning because of you and Simon Langley. He knows how stubborn you are, you don't just drop leads like that,' he snapped his fingers.  
  
Fillmore grinned back. 'So what do you want to know?'  
  
'There was a report filed this morning about some missing chemicals. Did the Chemistry Club mention anything about it to you?'  
  
'Yeah, I told them we'd have someone over to talk to them soon.'  
  
'If that's all, I guess I better head over and conduct a proper questioning.'  
  
'I wasn't there to question them, Anza, I was--'  
  
'Yeah, yeah, I know. Simon Langley. See ya, Fillmore.'  
  
Fillmore watched Anza out of the room, then glanced at the clock. It was almost time for him to meet Third. He gathered up the rest of his lunch and headed over to their designated meeting spot. She'd probably be happy to hear that Simon Langley was definitely a suspicious character, but she'd act like she'd known he was all along.  
  
Then again, she seemed so sure of herself, she probably had known all along. Fillmore shook his head.  
  
One hour later, he sat slumped on the front steps. Third seemed to be running a bit late. Fillmore smiled bitterly. Guess he'd been stood up. Should've seen that coming. But at the same time, it didn't sit right with him. She didn't seem like the kind of person who would set up a meeting with him and then miss it without a good reason.  
  
He started to make his way back up the steps, thinking over why Ingrid would do a no-show, when Augie came walking out of the school, looking anxiously over his shoulder. He didn't even notice Fillmore until he'd practically walked right into him.  
  
'Augie,' Fillmore called out. The smaller boy looked up, afraid, then calmed down when he saw who it was.  
  
'Oh, hey Ocifer.'  
  
'Listen, have you seen Third? I was supposed to meet her here an hour ago, but she never showed.  
  
Augie paled visibly. 'What were you meeting her about?'  
  
Fillmore gave Augie a skeptical eye, then said, 'She was helping me out with a case.'  
  
Augie looked down at his shoes. 'They said if they found her snooping around again...' he said more to himself than to Fillmore.  
  
'Who?' Fillmore asked, trying to grasp the situation.  
  
Augie looked back up, a grim expression on his face. He pointed to his black eye, 'The guys who did this.'  
  
________  
  
Next Chapter: Ingrid's missing! Will Fillmore be able to find her in time? Will he be able to crack the case before it's too late? That's a lot of pressure on Fillmore ^^;... But time is running out for Ingrid and X Middle School. 


	11. Drinks on Molotov

'Sit down!' Fillmore growled, shoving Augie into a chair by his desk. The commotion the two were making was drawing the attention of more than one person in the office. Tehama was whispering something behind her hand to Anza, who then nodded and looked grimly in Fillmore's direction.  
  
For the most part, Fillmore completely ignored them. He was more concerned with the binders full of photos of people who'd been booked by the safety patrol. Pulling down the one labeled with the current year, he marched back over to his desk and slammed it down in front of Augie.  
  
'I don't care if you don't know the names of the guys who did that to your eye – the guys who took Ingrid,' he said in a dangerously quiet voice. 'We're going to go through every single one of these binders until you ID every last guy who's in with Stingray.'  
  
Augie was leaning back precariously in his seat, pushing the chair up on the two back legs. Fillmore was glaring at him from behind his glasses in a way that was just downright unsettling. What had gotten into this guy, all of a sudden? He'd never seen the officer so worked up before in his life. And he certainly didn't want to be on the receiving end of all this animosity for much longer.  
  
'I don't owe you anything!' Augie protested out of nowhere, trying to stand up. He was sick of being pushed around. Just because he was short didn't mean people could just order him about.  
  
Fillmore thrust him right back down into the chair. 'Third is your friend! You owe it to her! Man, I used to think you were just another punk that didn't deserve a second glance. The fact that a girl like Ingrid chose you, out of all the people at this school, to open up to – she almost changed my mind about you.'  
  
'Hey, Fillmore,' Anza put a hand on the enraged officer's arm, trying to pull him away from Augie. 'Calm down, man.'  
  
Fillmore wrenched his arm right back. 'So what's it gonna be, Augie? You just another punk? Or are you her friend?'  
  
Augie stubbornly crossed his arms and looked away. 'I never asked to be her friend.'  
  
Fillmore threw up his arms in frustration and turned around, taking a deep breath. He was about ready to set into Augie again when Vallejo barged out of his office. 'What's with all the racket out here?' He paused, taking in the scene at Fillmore's desk. 'What is he doing here!? Fillmore!'  
  
'Yes, Junior Commissioner Vallejo?'  
  
Vallejo looked ready to burst at Fillmore's tone alone. There was nothing he hated more than officers with attitudes. 'I thought I made it clear last time that he was not to be arrested again with out reason!'  
  
'Ingrid Third has gone missing, and Augie has seen the guys that took her. Now, out of the kindness of his heart, he's going to ID them for us,' Fillmore sent a pointed glare in Augie's direction. Anza shifted feet nervously in the background.  
  
Augie held Fillmore's gaze for a moment, then looked away with a 'pft'. Vallejo raised an eyebrow.  
  
'Forgive me Augie, you're right. You have no heart,' Fillmore spat out cruelly. 'But there is one thing you understand: a balanced checkbook. See, since she got here, Third's been doing you quite a few favors. Way I see it, you're in debt man. This one little thing could clear all of that...'  
  
Augie glanced back at Fillmore. If entreaties about friendship wouldn't work, that sure would. At least it wouldn't seem like he cared about her. Anyways, Fillmore wasn't gonna let up until he'd had his way. That... and he did care.  
  
He gave a barely perceptible nod, but the officer picked up on it readily enough. Just then, another person emerged from Vallejo's office. 'What's going on out here?'  
  
'Neil?'  
  
The boy standing in the doorway to the commissioner's office smiled and waved. 'Hey. Just got out of the hospital a few days ago. Came in to go over any recent developments in the Stingray case. I won't be a part of it anymore, though. Been discharged. They'll be out looking for my replacement soon enough,' he paused when he noticed the grim looks on everyone's faces. 'Maybe I should return to my first question. What's going on?'  
  
'A friend of mine is MIA – our dependable source here tells us that Stingray's guys are behind it.'  
  
A surprised look flitted across Neil's face. 'A safety patrol officer?'  
  
Fillmore shook his head. 'No, civilian.'  
  
'Name, hair, eyes?'  
  
'Ingrid Third. Black shoulder length hair, green eyes. Dresses in dark colours and combat boots.'  
  
At that Neil's eyebrows shot off his head. 'THE Ingrid Third? As in the girl that caused all that trouble with the graffiti job earlier this year?'  
  
'One and only.'  
  
'You sure keep strange company, Fillmore. We had a file passed onto our department regarding her when she first came to this school. Bad egg – high IQ though.'  
  
'It's the IQ that's gotten her into trouble. Seems she caught onto Stingray's game, and he was forced to take some action.'  
  
'Well,' Neil said, moving over to Fillmore's desk, 'if what happened to me is any indication, we better find her, and fast.' He glanced down at Augie, 'Nice eye.'  
  
Augie just 'hmph'ed and looked at Fillmore. 'So are we gonna do this or what? I got better things to be doin' with my time, ya know.'  
  
Neil flipped open the binder, skipping the first few pages. 'Some of these guys look familiar to me. Judging by the date, they were brought in around or after the time my cover was blown. Might be a good bet to start here.' He slid the binder across the desk to Augie, who began to turn the pages, briefly looking at each of the photos on the page.  
  
'There,' he pointed, suddenly. 'That's one of 'em, for sure. He was the big guy who cornered me in the washroom.'  
  
Neil leaned over to have a look, his brow furrowed. 'I don't recognize him.'  
  
Augie shot him a glare. 'Well you weren't there when I was getting my face pounded in, were ya? Don't think just because you spent a little while hangin' around some of Stingray's guys that you know every one of 'em.'  
  
Neil held up his hands in a motion of surrender. Fillmore stalked over to his desk and looked over Augie's shoulder. 'Which one, did you say?'  
  
'That one,' Augie pointed at the photo in the top right-hand corner. Fillmore started at the face. That guy was...  
  
'Hey! Tehama!' he rushed over to her desk. She glanced up from her typing.  
  
'What's up, Fillmore?'  
  
'You remember that big guy you brought in that day after Neil's cover was blown? The one who's finger prints had been found on boxes in the storage room?'  
  
'Yeah. Had to let him go, remember? It didn't come to anything,' she turned back to her typing. 'Oh, but those boxes we found his fingerprints on? They're still in the evidence room. Towards the back. Huge masses of cardboard. Can't miss them.'  
  
'Thanks.'  
  
They were right where she said they would be: in the back of the room, at the end of a long line of shelves packed with everything from yogurt to models of a Taj Mahal. There wasn't anything special about them that could be seen at a glance. They were, after all, just a couple of cardboard boxes. Fillmore opened one up and peeked inside. Empty. Not that he had expected to find anything, but still, there had been some sort of hope there that he would find somethingthat would lead him to Ingrid.  
  
That's when he saw it. The small circles imprinted into the bottom, as if bottles had been stacked in the box previously. Bottles.  
  
There was no way, was there? Neil had said that he suspected the vending machines were at the centre of all of this. Disco, it was all coming together now! The vending machine that Peabody had been arguing over with the Tape Measure Guy, it had somehow appeared on the budget without Peabody knowing. What if Stingray had put it there? Ingrid must have made that connection after he had told her the story for a laugh. But a vending machine was nothing without something to put in it, right? So after she figured that much out, she would have gone looking for the bottles.  
  
He knew where the water bottles were, and he had a hunch that if he wanted to find Ingrid, he should start there.

* * *

'Hey, has anyone seen Fillmore?' Neil asked, walking over to Tehama's desk, where she and Danny seemed to be arguing over something.  
  
'Uh, didn't he go running out of here a few minutes ago?' Danny said.  
  
'After I sent him into the evidence room to look at few boxes.'  
  
Neil's face, though confused, set itself with a grim look.

* * *

Ingrid listened in a somewhat careless manner as the door opened and close with a barely audible 'click'. Putting the bottle she was inspecting back in the box, she crossed her arms and turned to find Fillmore crouched in front of the door. He saw her and stood.  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him. It was like he was playing 'spy' or something, and it was rather amusing. 'Can I help you?' she asked, her voice full of dry humour.  
  
'Help me?' he said incredulously. 'I think the one who needs saving here is you, baby.'  
  
Ingrid rolled her eyes and went back to her box of water bottles. Did he really think she was going to pay him any attention to him whatsoever if he insisted on using his preachy officer's voice with her?  
  
'Still can't admit it, can you Third? Ever since you set foot in this school you've needed saving, and even now that the facts are staring you in the face you still refuse to see it.'  
  
She thought of rounding on him and biting his head off with a cold, snide remark. A witty one, of course, that would show off her brilliance while demeaning him at the same time. But she couldn't let him get the better of her. No, she had something that he was obviously lacking: self-control. Holding a bottle over her shoulder, she asked, 'Do you know what this is?'  
  
He stopped suddenly, thrown off by her question. He had been suspecting some kind of retaliation, but after a moment's reflection he realized that in the case of Third, that would've been too predictable and rash. Not that running off alone into the middle of Stingray's operation wasn't rash.  
  
He walked over and took the bottle in his hands, turning it over. She spun around to observe him. 'It looks like water,' he said, but he was suspicious of the true nature of the contents.  
  
Ingrid spun the cap off. 'Take a smell.'  
  
Fillmore raised the bottle up to his nose and took a careful whiff. 'Uh! That's strong! It smells like... Alcohol?'  
  
'It's ethanol. Mixed with a few other chemicals as well. Notice anything else odd about this bottle?' She held it up, level in front of his face.  
  
'It's only two-thirds full.'  
  
Ingrid nodded again. 'Care to take a wild guess at what all of this adds up to?'  
  
'Uh...'  
  
'It's a Molotov Cocktail, Fillmore. It's a makeshift bomb.'  
  
'Langley?'  
  
'It makes sense. That's what he was roped into this operation for: they had him smuggle chemicals out of the storeroom and mix these up for him. And it gets worse from there. Fillmore, they're going to put these in the new vending machines. These are going to be sold to students at X who, my guess is, aren't going to be doing anything good with them.'  
  
A grim look came onto Fillmore's face. This was serious; this was more than catching Stingray. If everything that Ingrid described went ahead, the population of X Middle School would be in severe danger. They had to stop this.  
  
Fillmore pulled out his walkie-talkie, which he thankfully had on him. 'Anza, you there?'  
  
'Fillmore, where are you? Everyone's looking for ya.'  
  
'Anza, I need some backup.'  
  
About 10 minutes later Tehama's voice was heard in the hallway. 'May I see your hall passes?'  
  
There was some grumbling, probably from the two guards who were still outside the door.  
  
'Look,' Anza's voice said, 'if you haven't got the passes, then you're going back to class. That, or you're gonna join us at HQ. Which is it?'  
  
More grumbling and then the shuffling of feet indicated the departure of their captors. Anza went with them for good measure, just to make sure that they didn't try to sneak back. Once they were out of sight, Tehama opened the door.  
  
'You guys alright?'  
  
'We have to talk to Vallejo.'

* * *

Final Chapter: Ingrid and Fillmore work together (finally!) to bring down Stingray's operation. But when all is said and done, where does their relationship stand? 


	12. Independent and Fine

The final chapter! AN at the end, since I'm sure you just want to skip ahead and read the rest of the fic! Hope you like!

* * *

The Junior Commissioner hadn't been too keen on the idea of her being involved. She'd been left out of most of the planning of this operation, forced to sit in wait at Fillmore's desk while he, Neil, and Vallejo talked everything over. The only chance she'd had of seeing the inside of the Junior Commissioner's office was when she was forced to explain just what exactly was going on and who was involved. Fillmore had managed to figure out most of it already, to his credit, but he was still a bit fuzzy on a few points.  
  
After she explained the contents of the bottles and identified the key players in Stingray's operation, she had been ushered out of the office but told to stay at HQ. It was too dangerous for her to go wandering around: they knew that she knew. To her that was a problem. After all, she was now not only knowledgeable about what they were trying to do, she was also on the loose. She might have gone to the Safety Patrol and told them everything...  
  
Ingrid rolled her eyes and gave a sarcastic sigh. Why no one else had thought of that was beyond her. Then again it had taken an outsider to solve this case in the first place. Not too bright, those Safety Patrollers.  
  
It didn't take much effort, then, for her to decide on her course of action. She rose from Fillmore's desk and walked quietly out of the office. If she was careful enough, the only one to notice her leaving would have been the goldfish. Odds are no one saw her sneak out anyway, seeing as they were all so busy with paperwork for the impending operation.  
  
Hopefully the fish wouldn't rat her out to Fillmore. He'd be livid, of course, that she'd implicated herself yet again in this case. But it had to be done. She'd already been absent from the storage room for an hour. If Klein already knew about her disappearance, then there was significant damage to repair. If he didn't know yet, he'd find out eventually... Better to counter problem before it arose. If they thought she was on their side, they'd have no reason to suspect Safety Patrol involvement.  
  
With a deep breath, Ingrid schooled her features and took hold of the door knob. Entering the Student Council office, she moved towards Klein's desk with the most intimidating and confident stride she possessed. She leant over the desk, careful to look him straight in the eye. He had to know she meant business. So with a cold and poisonous voice she made that business quite clear: 'I want one'.  
  
Said secretary looked quite taken aback by her appearance in his office, not to mention her behavior. After a moment he regained his composure, though, and with all his cocky self-assuredness lent back comfortably into his chair. 'Got out from under my guards noses, did you?' he asked with a smirk, then frowned. He twirled his pencil absently in his fingers, ignoring her for the moment. Ingrid didn't falter for a moment, thus when he cast her another smirking glance, he found himself on the receiving end of a rather hard stare. Freddie threw the pencil down on to the desk. 'It can be arranged,' he sighed. Then he flicked his eyes up to hers, the intensity in gaze matched perfectly, 'But it'll cost you.'  
  
'How much?'  
  
'Normally we charge $20. But with the lateness of your order...' he trailed off, giving her a significant look.  
  
'I'll have $30 for you tomorrow,' she said dismissively, turning and exiting the office without a backward glance. She didn't allow herself a relieved exhale of the breath she'd been holding until she was down the hall and around the corner.  
  
The second she walked into Vallejo's office without knocking, Fillmore seemed to know exactly what she'd done. He just looked at her, her determined expression, and his face set into that grim frown. Oh yes, he knew. He was probably one of the more clever officers on the force.  
  
From then on their operation plans revolved around her.  
  
'You do realise that we'll now have to re-work a serious part of this plan,' Vallejo growled, rubbing his temples in a way that pretty much seemed to be habit by now. He seemed to be accepting the way things had turned out, but was slow to acknowledge it was for the better. Seemed that the Junior Commissioner had a bit of a temper.  
  
Neil, on the other hand, appeared to like the turn of events. 'If we follow through with this properly, we could end up with much more evidence on these guys than a couple of ids. Just because someone fingers them doesn't mean they'll get the sentence they deserve. If we can get this guy to incriminate himself on tape...'  
  
From what Ingrid knew, he was an Intelligence officer who'd been working on the Stingray case for a while. He also didn't seem to have anything against using her as a means for his recorded confession. However friendly his smile was, this guy was the kind who believed the ends justified the means. If she had to go down for the capture of Stingray to occur – well, it was all for the greater good.  
  
Fillmore, she had to say, was the complete opposite. While begrudgingly admitting that there was no other way going about this now that Ingrid had gotten involved yet again, he didn't at all feel comfortable with it. In some ways she appreciated his concern; the visible and verbal ways she received it made it obvious she could take care of herself -- she didn't need his help to get through this.  
  
'If you wire me, then, and record the money transaction, it should be easy enough to get him say something incriminating. The guy's too sure of himself,' Ingrid cut into their conversation.  
  
Fillmore narrowed his eyes at her behind his glasses. 'And what if he doesn't do the transaction in public? What if he takes you into a private room and has you searched for a wire?'  
  
'Then everything will be ruined, won't it?' she raised an eyebrow at him, challenging him to say something else.  
  
'Darn it, Third! There's no guarantee that he doesn't suspect Safety Patrol involvement! You could be walking straight into a trap. Don't be blind to the risk that's a part of this, Ingrid.'  
  
'We all know that there's risk involved,' Vallejo cut in, 'but there's no other way now. If Ingrid doesn't show tomorrow they'll get suspicious and all of this will be for nothing.'  
  
Neil looked between each of the three, evaluating the silence for a moment before breaking it. 'Now, how do we reposition these men here to cover her?' he asked, motioning to the blueprint of the cafeteria.  
  
Vallejo, having finally got the projector screen up and stabilized, turned to face a room full of Safety Patrollers. It wasn't often that the Briefing Room was this crowded, but then again it wasn't often that they organized an operation of this magnitude. He flipped on the projector and motioned to O'Farrell to turn off the lights.  
  
'Okay people, quiet down. This is how it's gonna happen: the new vending machine will arrive at 09:00 hours tomorrow morning. It'll be wheeled in by the delivery man and hooked up. From what information we were able to obtain from Student Council, the vending machine will be filled with the bottles at 11:00 by a janitor. That leaves half an hour until lunch.'  
  
He glanced over at Ingrid, who was standing on the left side of the room. She took the queue and continued what the Commissioner was saying. 'These bottles are obviously only meant for certain people. What we don't know is how Stingray is planning on controlling who buys the bottles. He doesn't want some random thirsty kid buying one of his bombs: the whole game would be up in no time. This either means that the buyers will find some way out of class to purchase their bottles before lunch, or someone will be "guarding" the machine during lunch, only allowing certain people to buy from it.'  
  
Vallejo took over again. 'Now, we've set up a schematic for the placement of officers. As you can see here...'  
  
Ingrid found her attention wandering. It was obviously important information, but she had a photographic memory anyway.  
  
'You sure you can handle this?' Fillmore asked in a steely voice once the briefing was over.  
  
Ingrid shot him a glare to match.  
  
'This is serious business, Ingrid. You could get seriously hurt.'  
  
'Nice to know you care, Cornelius.'  
  
Behind his glasses, Ingrid had the distinct impression that Fillmore had just had the gall to roll his eyes at her.  
  
'Enough love, you two,' Vallejo said with his rough voice, moving over towards them. 'Third, I've had Officer Tehama call your dad at the University. He's on his way to pick you up on the pretence of a sore stomach. This way you'll get home without any unwanted encounters. A ride in the morning back to school has also been arranged.'  
  
She hadn't had to wait long for her dad to arrive. With the excuse of exhaustion she'd gone straight up to her room when she got home. This whole Safety Patrol business was starting to grate on her nerves. Perhaps she should have listened to Fillmore when he said to stay out of it.  
  
Fillmore. If anything was grating on her nerves, it was him. He'd said it again today, that same line as the first day they'd met. That she needed to be 'saved'. Ingrid kicked off her heavy boots with a sigh and pulled a record from her bookshelf. Hm. She liked this one. Putting it on the record player, she then flopped onto her bed and buried her head into her pillow.  
  
She didn't need to be saved. If Fillmore knew enough about her, he'd know that at least. He wasn't as smart as he thought was. And a part of her, strange as it was, seemed to regret that fact.

* * *

His alarm went off at 5:30am. He'd wanted to up and at HQ by seven. He'd also been awake to hear his alarm go off; watched the digital clock with heavy eyes as the numbers changed, counted down the hours, minutes, and seconds. In short, he'd gotten next to no sleep whatsoever.  
  
Today was a big day, and it was stressing him out. That was granted. But that wasn't what his mind was so focused on all night. No, his mind seemed to want to torture him with far more complicated thoughts. Complicated thoughts with a simple label.  
  
Ingrid Third.  
  
She really was girl too smart for her own good. He tried to think back to when she'd first gotten involved in all of this, but somehow couldn't seem to pin the exact moment, Man, he could swear she was involved the second she walked in the doors of X! And she shouldn't be involved, not at all. She was too comfortable with her mind, the way she could bend the facts and somehow come out with a picture of reality. Was it possible that confidence could be a bad thing?  
  
It was in her case it was. If she had any doubts about all of this, she hid them well. She walked around with her steady eyes and cold, impenetrable gaze; she thought she was invincible.  
  
Well, if she thought she could take on Stingray by herself, he knew better. And he should, he'd been around long enough to know. Sooner or later her attitude was going to get her into serious trouble. He had a feeling it would be sooner.  
  
Fillmore rolled out of bed, exhausted from lack of sleep but feeding off the small amounts of adrenalin that were starting to course through him in apprehension of what was going to happen today. They were going to try to take down Stingray. As he dressed, he went over the plans again in his mind, trying to detect any glitches or errors; things that might go wrong. While his imagination came up with plenty of scenarios that ended... unpleasantly, his logical side told him over and over their plan was practically foolproof.  
  
That alone was enough to make him nervous. Nothing was foolproof to talented fool.  
  
The bike ride to school took too long, and at the same time it was over before he realised it had started. Fillmore tried to calm the butterflies flapping about in his stomach. There were quite a few other officers who showed early this morning. Vallejo was in his office with Principal Folsom. Dropping his bag by his desk, Fillmore mechanically started to feed his fish. He knew the morning would be spent in preparation. There should already have been officers on surveillance in the cafeteria. He'd be joining them soon.  
  
The door to HQ opened, and in came O'Farrell and Tehama. In tow they had a girl, her face covered by a hood. Fillmore's stomach clenched. He knew who that was. Ingrid lowered her hood once the door was closed, and Fillmore watched as Danny led her over to a desk on the left side of the room to get wired up.  
  
'We'll be able to hear you at all times while the mic is activated. You need to stand within a 3 meter radius of someone else for the mic to able to pick up their words,' Danny explained as he hooked her up. Ingrid nodded to indicate she understood. 'For this plan to work properly, you have to get him to incriminate himself in your conversation.'  
  
'You know all of our positions,' Tehama continued for Danny. 'It's important that you don't look in our direction at any time during the operation. If you do, it could give us away, not to mention leave you in a dangerous spot.'  
  
The wiring was finished. Fillmore hung back for a moment longer while Danny did a mic check to make sure everything was working. After that, they dragged Ingrid over to fill in some papers, and left her alone. He took his opportunity then.  
  
'Fillmore!' Anza called from the other side of the room. 'We need you to come help revise the surveillance layout – there are a few problems with angles that we didn't factor in yesterday.'  
  
Fillmore turned to look at Anza, then glanced back over his shoulder at Ingrid. He'd talk to her later, when anther opportunity presented itself. Right now there were more important things to take care of, like his job and a crime lord. With all of the checks performed on walkie talkies, extra briefings, and improvisation in positionings, his job and a crime lord managed to successfully occupy the rest of the morning.  
  
The rush of demand on his time had come as a relief in a way – he hadn't had a chance to stop and think about the nervous feeling in his gut. But now the time to wait was at hand, and it was hitting him with full force. Groups of officers had already started to leave for the cafeteria in small numbers, so as not to look suspicious. All of them were in disguise, of course. It was almost time for lunch – seemed Stingray had opted to perform his crime right under the very noses of the students. A surveillance team had reported back a while ago to say that just after the janitor had finished stocking the vending machine, a student had dismantled the light inside it and hung an 'Out of Order' sign across it. For all intents and purposes, the only people purchasing bottles would be the ones who knew exactly what was in them.  
  
Fillmore glanced to the back of the room where Ingrid was standing with Tehama, going over some last minute detail no doubt. He watched as the officer left Ingrid for a moment to change into a disguise. Tehama was the one who'd be escorting Ingrid to the cafeteria. This would be his last opportunity to talk to Third before he had to go and join the other officers on surveillance. Fillmore took a deep breath and walked up behind her.  
  
'I'm going to be fine, Cornelius.'  
  
Fillmore felt a weary smile tug at his lips before it hardened into his usual frown. But before he could get out a word-  
  
'Hey! You guys almost ready to go?' Danny seemed to pop out of nowhere, chirpy as usual.  
  
'Aren't you supposed to be at the cafeteria already, Danny?' Fillmore asked.  
  
'Naw, I'm going with the next group. That's what group you're in, right Fillmore?' he then turned his attention to Ingrid. 'Don't worry about a thing, Miss Third. Fillmore here's got your back. And anyway, this plan is foolproof!'  
  
'Nothing is foolproof to a talented fool.'  
  
Fillmore blinked, then looked at Ingrid. For the first time he saw her smile in a way that wasn't in the least bit sarcastic or instigating. 'Jinx,' she said, the usual mischief returning to her eyes, though it was more playful than scathing.  
  
'Can you honestly tell me that you're not nervous about this at all?' he asked, risking complete bluntness. He'd attempted to spend the morning convincing her that this wasn't a game – it'd be comforting to know she already knew that.  
  
'Only a person who's completely dense wouldn't be nervous. But Fillmore's got my back... and I trust him.'  
  
Fillmore finally let that weary smile grace his lips before Danny dragged him away. It was time to get back to work.  
  
The cafeteria was just beginning to fill with students. Danny and Fillmore sat themselves down at the table closest to the vending machine in question. They'd have a clear view of everyone who purchased a Molotov Cocktail, making 'id'ing them an easy task. They, along with two other groups who also had watch on the vending machine, would be radioing the description of anyone who bought a bomb to officers waiting outside various entrances to the cafeteria. The second they left, they'd be nabbed, successfully stopping any of the bombs from going MIA. It was just as important to ensure the safety of the school as it was to close up Stingray's operation.  
  
It didn't take long for Freddie to show, He came in through the main entrance and leant against the wall next to the vending machine that was supposedly out of order. Not particularly inconspicuos. Ingrid followed soon after, and Fillmore held his breath. She was standing close enough to him – she should be getting all of his words on tape. What was important was that she got him to say something that identified himself as a criminal. She said it wouldn't take much effort, but he might have been treading warily after her escape yesterday. There was still no reason for him to not suspect that she'd gone to the Safety Patrol.  
  
Tehama had come in with Ingrid and taken up a spot in line for the next vending machine along the row. Perhaps she was close enough that she could hear what was being said. Fillmore watched as Ingrid pulled out the envelope of money. Everything must be going fine, or else she wouldn't be handing the money over so soon. Perhaps the guy was just as over-confident as she said he was.  
  
It was almost over, the guy had just extended his hand and said something that looked like – from what Fillmore could tell with his lip-reading skills – 'Pleasure doing business with you'. Ingrid, after a calculating look on her part, reciprocated the moveme-  
  
Flash!  
  
Fillmore started and glanced over at Danny, who was looking at his fallen camera with stricken panic. Fillmore's gaze shot right back to Klein's – their eyes met. Klein narrowed his eyes, and Fillmore knew he was making note of the walkie talkie that was held in plain view in his hand. The game was up.  
  
In a split second, Klein had Ingrid around the neck and was dragging her out of the cafeteria through the kitchen. Fillmore was up and after them in the same short amount of time. 'All officers! Klein is attempting to escape through kitchens with Third as a hostage! One officer in pursuit. Any in vicinity should attempt to cut him off!'  
  
In an attempt to slow him down, Freddie picked up a tray of macaroni that the lunch lady was serving and threw it across the floor towards Fillmore. He tried to dodge it, but ended up slipping and falling down. He could hear Ingrid growling things out to her captor, though what the exact words were he had no clue; probably vividly gruesome enough to put him off food for a week or so.  
  
Fillmore jumped up again and took off after them. Klein had somehow managed to get out of sight in the short amount of time it had taken for Fillmore to get on his feet again. He was a fast runner though, and he'd have the distance closed in no time. He couldn't afford not to; Ingrid was counting on him.  
  
At full speed, Fillmore bareled right out the kitchen door, into the hallway, and into... another officer?  
  
A hand was offered to help him up, but Fillmore ignored it and pushed himself up with lightening speed. 'Where'd they go?' he demanded of the other three officers standing before him.  
  
'We headed over here as soon as we heard you over our walkie talkies,' one of them offered. 'We haven't seen anyone go by, they didn't come out of the kitchen, at least not this way.'  
  
For a split second, the feeling of utter defeat crept over Fillmore. He'd lost them. Ingrid was gone. She had trusted him, had too much confidence in herself, and now she was gone.  
  
But the feeling passed as quickly as it had come, and the steely hard persona of Officer Cornelius Fillmore replaced it. This was no time to let emotions get in the way of an investigation. He needed to be calm, he needed to think. Klein had gone into the kitchen and not come out. Clearly the obvious could be drawn from that, then, right?  
  
Fillmore turned around and headed straight back into the kitchen, eyes narrowed and ears sharp. If they were still in here, he was going to find him. But it was quiet, and Ingrid hadn't exactly kept her mouth shut about being a hostage. Where were they?  
  
A sudden idea came to him, and he wanted to hit himself over the head for not thinking of it sooner. Pulling out his walkie talkie, he adjusted the tuner to the frequency he wanted, hoping he was remembering the right numbers...  
  
'... least... had... soft landing.' a voice crackled over the air waves. That was her! He turned the dial back, carefully adjusting it so he could make out everything she was saying over the wire.  
  
'The oven mitt chute really was a bit desperate, though. How were you to know we wouldn't come flying out of that thing and land on the basement floor?'  
  
Fillmore couldn't help but smirk. She wasn't just complaining to the guy, she was counting on the fact that he was listening. Third really was way too clever for Freddie to ever hope to handle. She was out of his league.  
  
He glanced over towards the oven mitt chute. It led to the basement of the school, right into the laundry room. The other three officers, who'd followed him into the kitchen, looked at him expectantly. 'You three head down to the laundry room, make sure they don't get out of the basement. Radio for someone to watch this windows, we don't want them getting out that way either.' They nodded at set off to fulfill their tasks; Fillmore turned around to face the oven mitt chute.  
  
'Umph,' he said as he landed in the pile of dirty oven mitts. Freddie looked over in surprise from the other side of the laundry room where he was proceeding to drag Ingrid out into the hallway. He made to run, but the shouts of other Safety Patrollers from the bottom of the stairs scared him yet again; he slammed the door shut, locking himself, Ingrid and Fillmore inside.  
  
'It's just you and me now, baby,' Fillmore smiled predatorily.  
  
'Don't come one step closer!' he yelled, obviously very much stressed out. He still had his arm around Ingrid's neck. She was still obstinately struggling against his grip, but it didn't seem to be doing much good.  
  
'There's no where to go, Klein. You might as well give up now.'  
  
'No!' he cried, a wild look in his eyes. 'I've spent 6 whole months setting up this operation for Stingray! 6 months! And it's not gonna end like this, not because of her!' he motioned wildly to Ingrid, who was eying him carefully. She was just waiting for her chance, waiting for his grip to go lax for just a single second.  
  
And it did. With all the energy she could muster, Ingrid jammed her elbow into Freddie's stomach. His eyes flew open at the contact before he let go of her and doubled over in pain. Fillmore grabbed the cart full of oven mitts and rolled it at him. Ingrid stepped out of the way in time for it to collide into Klein and send him toppling inside.  
  
Ingrid straightened up and smiled at Fillmore. 'Nice work, Cornelius. A little slow getting down here on your part, though.'  
  
'I was just waiting for my reassurance about the soft landing. Wasn't gonna come charging after you if I was gonna end up with a bump on my head,' he smiled back. Unlocking the door, the three other Safety Patrol Officers rushed in, quickly taking Mr. Klein into custody and dragging him out the door.

* * *

Neil strode out of the questioning room where Simon Langley was being detained. As he explained to Third and Fillmore after they'd returned to HQ, he had been coerced into helping Stingray.  
  
'Yeah, seems a few of his froggie friends were kidnapped about 4 months back. Ever since then, Stingray has been holding them hostage for the Molotov Cocktails.'  
  
Ingrid was sitting by Danny's desk being de-wired, Fillmore hovering over her shoulder. She found his protectiveness kind of odd, but not wholly unwelcome. It was nice to have someone there for her that she felt she could count on. Neil stood close by, giving her an appraising look. She raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
'You know, Third, you handled yourself really well throughout this entire investigation. You're clever, you can think like a criminal, you don't crack under pressure – you sure you just want to go back to an ordinary school life now that this is all over?'  
  
'Nothing about this school is ordinary,' she replied dryly, looking away. 'You have a laundry mat in the basement, completely with oven mitt chute.'  
  
Neil decided to ignore the statement and get straight to the point. 'My point is that you're an above average person, Third. I don't know about the rest of the Law Enforcement Officers at X, but certainly wouldn't want a bored Ingrid Third running around on my beat. With a mind like yours, who knows what you'd get up to,' he said the last part under his breath. 'Why not put your skills to good use, give yourself a bit of a challenge?'  
  
She looked back at him, mildly interested at best.  
  
'Intel is looking for my replacement,' he finished.  
  
She looked away again, her mask giving nothing away. 'I'll think about it.'  
  
He handed her a small piece of paper. 'Here's my card, if you're interested give me a call.'  
  
She accepted it without a glance.  
  
'He's right, you know,' Fillmore said from behind her. 'You did a good job today.'  
  
Ingrid smiled slyly. 'Worried about me for nothing, then, Cornelius?'  
  
'Jabbing bad guys in the gut with your elbow doesn't negate the fact that you still managed to get yourself into a hostage situation in the first place.'  
  
'Fillmore, Third,' Vallejo interrupted their playful sparring with his gruff voice. 'Nice work you two. We've got enough on ----- to put him away for the rest of Middle School. We also managed to take 9 other students who were caught on tape buying the bombs into custody. All in all, today we've managed to take down 10 individuals connected to Stingray, and it's mostly thanks to you two. Folsom's pretty happy with the news, she's gonna wanna talk to you guys later.'  
  
'What about Stingray?' Fillmore asked, serious tones creeping back into his voice. 'We didn't catch him; didn't even come close.'  
  
'Just don't mention that to Folsom when she decides she wants to award you both. Stingray... He's still out there somewhere. But soon enough, he'll slip up. We'll catch him eventually.'  
  
With that Vallejo wandered off to take care of some paperwork with his name on it, leaving Fillmore and Third to themselves once again.  
  
'Thank you, Cornelius, for sticking it out with me. I know I'm not exactly the easiest person to get along with.'  
  
Fillmore eyed Ingrid carefully before he replied. 'You know, until recently I had my doubts about you. Thought you were misguided--'  
  
'That I needed to be saved,' Ingrid interrupted him. He paused for a second. 'Those were your exact words, if I'm not mistaken.'  
  
Fillmore nodded. 'Thing is, I was wrong. You're not misguided or anything like that, you're just horribly independent,' he concluded with a smirk. 'If you ever get lonely, though, I'm here,' he said, holding out his hand.  
  
Ingrid took it with an honest grin. 'Thanks.' He might not know it, but what he just said meant a lot to her. Maybe he was smarter than he let on.  
  
'See ya round, Ingrid.'  
  
Ingrid watched Fillmore's retreating back, her grin growing into a full blown smile. She fingered the card in her hand, its phone number already burned into her photographic memory.  
  
She'd be making a call tonight.  
  
----The End----  
  
AN: And such is the thrillingly long conclusion to The Scales Tipped. I'm sure, though, some people might be upset with the lack of Fillmore/Ingrid stuff going on. I dunno if you all wanted them to get all romantic, but to me, and the way I've set up their characters, it seemed a bit unrealistic.  
  
Their relationship is a bit different from the TV series though. I mean, how often does the real Ingrid call Fillmore 'Cornelius' instead? That was something I wanted to make seem normal in this fic. I think it worked out okay.  
  
BUT, if you're seriously mad at me for not making them fall hopelessly head over heals in love with each other, I have a compromise! I'm wiling to write a follow-up story, kind of like a sequel, that advances their relationships a little bit more. But only if people want to read it, otherwise I probably won't bother. Then again I might just do it on my own initiative. shrug Put it this way: if left to myself, it might or might not happen. If even one person says they want to read it, then I'll write it without hesitation.   
  
Let me know when you review! And speaking of reviews, thank you so much to all of the readers who reviewed this fic, and even those who just read it. You've all given me the support I needed to finish this, along with a couple of laughs. I'd especially like to thank The Barmy Baroness, who finally kicked me off (or, when you think about it) onto my bum to get back to work on The Scales Tipped.  
  
And sorry that there was no AN to the reviewers last chap. I forgot to add it in, and then I was much too lazy to replace the chapter. ;  
  
Love! I'll see you all 'round, and I hope you liked what you read!


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